


100 Words: Of the Mind

by HanaSheralHaminail



Series: 100 Words [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bones is an awesome friend, Break Up, Gol - Freeform, Hurt!Spock, Hurt/Comfort, It'll be explained, Kidnapping, M/M, Mind-Melds, Minor Character Death, Nyota is my favourite badass, T'hy'la, Telepathy, Vulcan Bond, bond, but also make up!, but no v'ger, jim and spock are so in love, jim is a great partner, lots of t'hy'la
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2018-12-22 14:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 50,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11969313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanaSheralHaminail/pseuds/HanaSheralHaminail
Summary: “Spock -do you know me?”The tragedy of Vulcan's destruction has left Spock with a collection of broken links scorching his mind, and his telepathy grows unsteadier by the hour. Desperate not to upset the delicate balance of his romantic relationship with Jim - and terrified of his own dual nature - the Vulcan refuses to meld at the cost of his health. And when he is abducted on an away-mission gone wrong, it seems as if his mind will finally break... If he flees to Gol, it will be for his own survival.-This story is part of a series; it begins after Star Trek Beyond and will follow Spock and Jim's relationship through the years, much like The Original Series did! There will be away missions, stand-alone episodes and story arcs. The first installment is called '100 Words: A beginning'





	1. Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaand... Welcome to the second part of the 100 Words series! This one is dedicated to mind-melds, the t'hy'la bond, telepathy, family relations... I'm also introducing an enemy of my own! But not here, no. I chose a sweet opening, you know. This chapter is soft. Soft, fluffy, tender, with a good dose of Spock’s mental plights because I’m opening a new arc about that. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**_1_ **

**_Skin_ **

Spock’s eyelids fluttered closed as he took a deep, drawn-out breath and prepared himself to descend into deep meditation. He spared a moment to appreciate the texture of the small, now rare, Vulcan woven carpet he was kneeling on, his robes spread out around him, the scent of incense rich in his nose and clinging to his hair. Then his consciousness turned inwards.

For one such as he, whose mind constantly battled with human urges and feelings it perceived as foreign, there could be no full peace achieved with the ancient practice; instead, since throughout the years he had learned to know and come to terms with his weakness, the half-blood used his meditation time to build shields around his emotions and to mend the cracks they never stopped opening into his flawless logic, staining it.

He focused on the patterns his thoughts followed when led astray and corrected them, bending them until they acquired some semblance of order; he ruthlessly analysed his most instinctual reactions, suffocating them if they appeared to gain too much control over the rest of his brain; he traced down his bodily functions to find the dull aches of exhaustion and discomfort so he could surround them in layer after layer of non-feeling to be safely ignored.

His heartbeat slowed considerably as Spock finally began relaxing, and his lips parted slightly, letting in the dry air of his quarters that tasted like home; it would have been all too easy to allow himself to sink into the deepest level of meditation (in touch with everything that was alive and thinking, a blessing for a mind as contact-deprived as his own), but he knew there were matters that needed to be addressed presently, and he had already delayed his examination longer than what was acceptable. And so he shifted his attention to the part of his brain where countless broken bonds languished, bleeding into an emptiness that had no end, as they had been doing for nearly five years…

Shivering inwardly, the Vulcan slid a mental touch over the mating bond he had once shared with T’Pring: it was jagged, the fine thread sharply severed and splintered, pulsing out a warning that he had refused to hear until then. Finally, he allowed himself to feel the pain fully, with all that he was, and it was crippling and ugly and _wrong_.

So, so wrong.

His mind shrieked, wordlessly begging for help, for respite, for anything that could make it stop, stop, stop, it had to… It reached outside the confines of his shields, searching, entirely of its own accord, and Spock was powerless to terminate its attempts, because he knew, he _knew_ he had to save himself somehow from the hurt which had been devouring him for so long, piece by piece, a slow and cruel agony, born from the loss of his planet and his own refusal to meld, even if it was with a Healer, even if it was necessary for survival…

It was illogical, but he was… afraid. He recognised this also.

And so his mind searched and searched and searched, stretching into infinity in a way he was not quite used to, for it was different than usual, different than the simple dissolving of individuality into a blissfully diverse whole: this search had a purpose and a name -it was the name of his t’hy’la, and elation and terror alike washed over the Vulcan as he contemplated the frightening power of his own _need_ , the need to let himself be enveloped by Jim’s brightness, by his golden presence, to let him sink into his mind to mend the guilt and pain and fill it with vivid colour no Vulcan had ever known, until everything was Jim, Jim, Jim.

Jim, Jim, Jim.

He needed, so much.

Jim, Jim, _Jim_.

It was so difficult to tear himself away from this strange impression of rightness -he was embarrassingly aware of his loss of control, of his weakness, yet he could do nothing but call out…

Jim, Jim, Jim.

Oh, how he wished the human would not hear his pleas! How he wished he would be deaf to the pitiful cries of his consciousness and keep living -keep being magnificent and far, far away so Spock’s low selfishness would not reach him…

Jim, Jim, Jim!

His skin was over-sensitized, tingling, his telepathy gone wholly berserk and raging, a tidal wave of psychic power set on the task of finding his precious t’hy’la, of luring him closer and closer where he belonged…

Because the shattered bond hurt, so much so he thought it might just be enough to kill him, but he knew it was mere suggestion, and that to the outside observer none of his inner turmoil would be visible but for the tiniest frown which brought a crease between his eyebrows; still, the burn of it was dizzying, impossible to contain. He should never have ventured there…

_Jim!_

* * *

 

Through the door of their shared bathroom, Jim entered Spock’s quarters, eyes widening slightly as they adjusted to the dim light, barely enough for a human to see; he walked around slowly so as not to tip anything over, then stopped by the ancient, alien fireplace, smiling down at the Vulcan kneeling beneath it. And didn’t he make the prettiest of pictures, stony still as he was (really, he looked like a statue), legs folded elegantly underneath him, arms resting into his lap, long neck arched gracefully, lips parted.

_So beautiful_ , he thought, gloating as he fell into a seated position and stared at the stoic face he knew so well. He had always liked the colour of Spock’s skin: very similar to a terran’s at first sight, yet strikingly different if one took the time to examine it properly, taking in the greenish hue dusting the tips of those elegantly curved ears and his fingertips when he was cold, or the intricate patterns his dark veins (almost violet) traced across his wrists, or the almost translucent pallor of the skin itself, always dry, for his desert-bred people never sweated. If one were to look even closer (and Jim was glad to say he had plenty of reasons to do just that) tiny, very light freckles, a human reaction to a too-hot sun, would become visible, especially across his nose, and didn’t Kirk just _love_ that unique trait.

With the lightest of touches, he brushed a finger over his sharp cheekbone, feeling the smooth texture of it and the pleasantly cooler temperature, then down to the corner of his mouth, that twitched just barely in response.

Suddenly, there was a change in atmosphere: he couldn’t quite pinpoint what, but he knew something was wrong. A confusing jumble of anxiety mixed with pain laced with need twined in misery washed over him, and he jolted a little, gasping silently.

Spock exhaled a shaking breath -it ghosted across the back of his hand, making him shiver- and the air became stifled, ripe with an aching tension that set Kirk’s instinct into overdrive. Striving to find his centre, the human closed his eyes for a moment, grasped his Vulcan’s shoulders for support, and pressed his lips to his cheek: “Hey, Enterprise to Spock. You there?”

The half-blood was forcibly brought back to reality then, and his eyes popped wide open, almost completely black and filled with some kind of raw, ancient emotion that was impossible to name. In a blink, Jim found himself enveloped in a desperate embrace, far too tight and suffocating for comfort, as alien fingers dug deeply into his back, drawing him against a heaving chest and soft silken robes, sharp pants tickling his neck and the racing beat of a heart nearly _pressed_ into his side. Abruptly, every point of contact between them became laden with an undercurrent of demanding energy, lighting his skin on fire.

The tidal wave of pure, unbridled _want_ cursing through Spock’s veins failed to put a stop to his actions, and he buried his face into his t’hy’la’s shoulder, breathing in his rich, human scent, so pleasant, so close… He was there, he had come, answering to the frantic pleas he had sent, and his mind sang in utter joy as his instinct decided to interpret so simple a thing as the human’s presence as permission to do with him as he pleased…

Jim was there, which clearly meant they could bond, they could meld, he could plunge himself into the sweet honey that was his consciousness and mark it as his own and keep it forever linked to his, yes, forever, _parted and never parted, never and always touching and touched…_

Oh, if it wasn’t the one thing he desired most in the universe! To be _telsu_ again, to be whole, to be Jim’s… To finally belong.

“K’diwa,” the Vulcan whispered, drawn by the blind power of his desire. His left hand was inching upwards, tracing a tantalising path over perfectly warm skin until it could reach a soft cheek, so precious… “ _T’nash-veh k’diwa_.”

Yes, _his_ , his beloved, his companion, his Captain, his chosen… He would join their minds and sink into his essence, it would be so easy and so right to let him touch those secret places he had hidden from the world, it would be good, it would _save_ him…

A moment before his fingers could splay above much coveted psi points, a rush of sickening _disgust_ at himself sent an icy chill to settle above his heart, and Spock froze instantly, realising what he was about to do -what he was about to forcibly take from this amazing, most special creature that alone constituted the focus of all he longed for, all he needed. Somehow, he managed to reshape his controls so he could gently slide his palm away from the human’s face to rest it into his blond hair, and he pulled back from the embrace, reluctantly relinquishing his claim on the fragile body he had been holding so tight.

His expression once more returned to one of placid politeness, the Vulcan gazed tenderly at his t’hy’la, smoothing his right hand across his arm to soothe the phantom ache left by his earlier violent grip. “Jim,” he murmured, as a manner of greeting. He met the pair of bright blue eyes staring amusedly at him and added, in a half-hearted explanation of his behaviour: “You caught me unprepared. I had not anticipated your presence.”

“Missed me, uh?” Kirk joked, reaching down between their bodies to retrieve one of the 20th century earplugs he had been wearing around his neck; Spock could hear the music still playing softly, the volume too low for him to discern the words.

“I am Vulcan. I am incapable of that emotion,” the First Officer recited flatly, raising an eyebrow so his human would know it was in jest. Jim’s chiming laughter fell upon his ears, bringing with it another surge of painful yearning which he callously suppressed. “What brings you here, k’diwa?” It was a foolish question to ask, and quite redundant since he knew perfectly well it had been his own rebellious mind to lure his Captain into his quarters, but he was curious as to what Kirk’s interpretation of things was.

“I… uh… felt like being here?” Jim answered in a rush, “Dunno, really. Guess _I_ missed _you_ , after all.”

He was so oblivious. So unaware. He might have sighed, had he not had enough of his own unfiltered reactions. But something must be done to quell, even if momentarily, the burning need only a bond could truly appease. Desperate to at least feel the emotional transference coming from skin-to-skin contact, the Vulcan rose to his feet, pulling the human up with him, then deftly slid his dark robe open, letting it fall in a heap over his meditation mat. “Then please, Jim… Show me,” he whispered, bowing his head in shame -he was absolutely undeserving of Kirk’s trust and affections- but keeping his stare fixed on his beloved.

Kirk’s predatory grin filled his face, yet he was gentle and caring as he softly wrapped both arms around Spock, perhaps sensing the war of conflicting emotions going on beneath his unfazed appearance. Eagerly, he trailed his fingers up his long spine -again, so much different than a human’s, the bumps and ridges more distanced and a little more prominent than one would expect. “You’re so perfect, baby,” he praised, caressing his hair almost absentmindedly, “You know that, don’t you?”

The Vulcan didn’t answer, letting Jim squeeze his hands into his own; he kissed him back fervently when his lips descended on his mouth, and pressed closer to him to gain more contact, drinking in the faint traces of comforting fondness and titillating lust buzzing underneath his skin. It was nowhere near a meld. Spock told himself it was enough.

* * *

 

The last thing Jim would have ever expected from a Vulcan was a propensity for night-time cuddles; but Spock, Spock was a cuddle monster: he seemed to be addicted to his skin, the way he melted into him when they were close. The human thought it had probably nothing to do with misplaced emotionalism and everything to do with telepathy, with some desperate need to soak up the feelings he had for him, and though his companion never asked, he was more than eager to provide him with so little a thing as contact.

He never asked for anything, Spock, he was always quiet and unobtrusive and dangerously dismissive of his own desires; in the beginning of their acquaintance, Kirk had scorned him for it once or twice, berating him for what he perceived as a sense of smug superiority in front of the rest of the universe. Now he knew the opposite to be true, and was deeply concerned for the consequences such destructive behaviour would bring. Taking guesses about his second’s faring and wishes and wants had become a form of art for him.

Silently, he pressed a kiss to the Vulcan’s smooth forehead, just beneath the fringe of meticulously cut hair. Dead to the world, his First Officer didn’t even shift from his place securely curled into his side, face hidden in the Captain’s shoulder which had become his pillow. Jim could feel his even, slower-than-a-human’s breath brushing against his collarbone, and he was encircled in a halo of spicy, alien scent from the way the half-blood’s arms were wrapped around him. Thankfully, when sleeping in his own quarters Spock did not seem to need blankets, or else Kirk would have had a stroke. It was already hotter than hell in there.

Up and down did he trail his fingers upon Spock’s side, tracing the shape of his ribs, until he felt his eyelids begin to fall under the load of his exhaustion; the Enterprise crew had just come out of a dire crisis -they had spent something along the lines of forty hours battling against a particularly stubborn ion storm, trying to pull free of its influences that had set each and every instrument on a collision course towards troublesome malfunctioning. It was the first time since the arrival of the anomaly that Jim had allowed himself the luxury of reclining on a bed, and the -albeit hard- regulation mattress was doing wonders to him, along with the Vulcan’s soothing weight on his chest.

The scientist shifted a little, then, and Kirk held his breath, staying utterly immobile as with feather-like movements he resettled himself over him, one pale hand trailing up from his hip to his neck, coming to lay on the pillow.

Satisfied his precious burden was comfortably resting, Jim drifted into a fitful slumber.

* * *

 

Spock slept exactly three point twenty hours that ship’s night, and when he rose with a start he found he had no wish whatsoever to leave the bed; Kirk’s warmth was pleasant, far too pleasant, and the intriguing buzz of his dreaming consciousness made the Vulcan’s mouth nearly water with the promise of how good it would taste… As soon as that dangerous thought crossed his mind, he pulled away, now recuperated enough from his earlier fatigue to properly worry about the extent the damage on his controls had reached.

Experimenting, he raised his palm inches from the human’s skin (so close in fact he could feel the waves of heat and emotion alike pouring off him) and deliberately brought it to hover above his cheek and temple, allowing his fingertips to barely brush against wonderful psi-points. Need, pain and desire all cursed through him in one powerful rush of adrenaline that had him dizzied and panting in a matter of seconds: it was so strong that the Vulcan snatched his hand back almost violently, and jolted into a sitting position, chocolate eyes widened in quiet terror as the hurt of loss trickled down his spine, forcing a layer of ice to spread over his body despite the warmth still surrounding him.

_It is imperative I put an end to this_.

Without a sound, he slipped out the bed, his steps catlike as he crossed his quarters to the working area, stopping by his desk, where Jim had left him, scant minutes before the storm hit, a note saying he would have dinner with Bones _but feel free to join us if you wanna drag your awesome ass away from your Padds and down to the mess_.

By no means did he share his Captain’s partiality to ancient paper (as it was an unnecessary waste of precious resources), however he did enjoy the sight of his extravagant cursive handwriting, and made a point to collect and treasure each and every one of the little messages he was given. Since he hadn’t yet had the time to store away this note in particular, he decided to put it to good use by turning it to write a memo of his own, taking advantage of the ballpoint pen Kirk had forgotten nearby.

 

_“Jim,_

_As per your request, the alarm is set at 7h00, thus I believe it should be agreeable to you if we met at 7h50 at the Officers’ Mess._

_Should you wish to see me earlier, you will find me in the laboratories._

_Please bear in mind you are due for a videoconference with Admiral Komak at 8h20.”_

 

Not at all satisfied with the lack of familiarity in the message but unable and unwilling to do anything about it, Spock left for a much-needed covert visit to Sickbay.

He did not expect to find anyone awake but the most essential personnel; however, he was counting on McCoy or at least M’Benga to be on watch, and instead found only young nurse Chapel there waiting. For an emotionally awkward Vulcan such as he, the woman’s not-at-all-subtle attempts at courting were more than a passing inconvenience, and it was with a heavy sense of discomfiture that he approached her. _What must be done must be done_.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Mister Spock?”

The Science Officer resisted the urge to sigh; she was a brilliant, loyal, gentle girl: why she insisted on pursuing such unproductive, unprofessional behaviour around him he could not understand. Yet her cheeks were stained red and her eyes had acquired a strange sheen of clarity (they sparkled, Jim would have said). Ignoring the double entendre he wished he hadn’t caught, Spock nodded curtly and said, no inflection in his detached tone: “Please rouse doctor McCoy. I have need of him.”

She straightened until she was almost saluting, and her boots clicked against the clean floor as she turned her back on him. “Yessir!” she exclaimed, before making a double turn -more of a pirouette, really- and pointing wide grey eyes straight into his face: “Are you feeling alright? Anything else I can get you?”

The Vulcan, who had thankfully refrained from lowering his guard, took a clean step back into the Medical Bay, looking pointedly at the door to Leonard’s quarters. “No, thank you, just the doctor.”

She left, and when McCoy came back, wearing black sleeping robes and a scowl that would have made a sehlat crawl away in fear, he was alone; the Science Officer though it safe to assume he asked the nurse to leave them to their privacy: the tension in his back lessened slightly, but then he took notice of the anxious glare sent in his direction and his spine snapped immediately upright, chin raised and jaw set. It was clear the CMO was not at all pleased to have been awoken in the middle of his first night of sleep in who knew how long.

“What’s wrong? Is it Jim? What’s he gotten himself into this time?” he barked immediately, already moving about Sickbay to retrieve his instruments.

“The Captain is quite fine, do not trouble yourself,” Spock hastened to assure him, stretching a hand towards the human in a soon-aborted attempt at halting his pacing.

Leonard stopped dead in his tracks and walked to stand right in front of him. His hands set briskly at his hips and the Vulcan noticed he was barefoot. “Then I hope you have a good reason for coming here in the middle of ship’s night.”

The second in command swallowed tightly and folded his arms behind his back, breathing through his nose the sharp scents of the sterilised area. “I have a… situation,” he hesitantly began, waiting until the doctor had dropped the Hypo before continuing. “I request that you visit me.”

McCoy’s mouth popped open and for a second he stared at him in frozen horror. “ _You_ are _requesting_ a visit? Is the sky falling? Are you _dying_?” As if to stress the last word, his hands flashed to grab the tricorder, and he brandished it in front of his new patient. “I’m just an old country doctor, you can’t drop a bomb like that on me without a warning…”

Unsure of the human’s meaning, Spock thought it safest to simply apologise, and did so, going to sit -willingly for what had to be the first time in his whole life- on the nearest bed, awaiting instructions.

“So what’s the matter with you? Are you feeling sick?”

The scientist cocked his head to the side and slowly summarized all that had transpired the previous evening, relaying the problems plaguing his mind in careful detail. The doctor listened without interrupting, expression growing darker with each word he uttered, and when he was finished he simply set to prepare in silence a medical scan for his brain. Spock found the quiet rather ominous, but sat still and did his best to appear innocent and inoffensive. It was, of course, to no avail.

“ _Did you meld_?” McCoy’s growling face was suddenly filling his whole line of vision, and he instinctively recoiled, sliding farther into the bed until he was forced into a sitting position. “No, I did not,” he answered stiffly, after point eleven seconds of contemplating the possibility of a lie.

“No?!” The doctor’s hands came down to grip his shoulders rather tightly, and he shook him twice. “Dammit, Spock! Why? _Why_ won’t you listen to a damn thing I say?!”

The Vulcan did not try to break free of his hold nor did he answer, ducking his head instead under the onslaught of worry-frustration-fear beating against his shields.

“You _need_ it, okay?” There was something akin to desperation filling McCoy’s voice, and Spock felt for him for but a fleeting instant. His must be a very difficult position. “Your brainwaves are going berserk and you _know it_! I don’t like these readings at all, so will you please just…”

The Science Officer bit his lip in a rare display of nervousness, making up his mind, then murmured quietly: “I have not melded since my seventh birthday.” Shame burned bright into his blood, and suddenly the tips of his ears felt too hot.

A moment of stunned silence followed his declaration, before the storm raged again, stronger than ever: “That long?! Are you out of your Vulcan mind? Does your father know?!”

“He is aware.” He folded his hands in his lap, and waited for Leonard’s wrath to subside.

“Then what the _heck_?” He was hissing, cheeks reddened from the intensity of his fury, “I really don’t get it. Your head is full of broken bonds, you’ve been hurting like hell for nearly five years -don’t deny it. Don’t you dare deny it!” His index finger flew up, nearly poking his nose as the human gesticulated widely to emphasize his point. “I’m _worried_ about you, you thick-headed…”

Spock dared raise his chin a little, just enough that he was not staring at his own knees anymore. “Doctor. I am half-human. My need for melds is not as great as that of a full-blooded Vulcan.”

He had intended the statement as a way to placate McCoy, and yet all he managed was a worsening of his situation: the human was now aggravated by what seemed to be a sense of deep disappointment. “ _Really_ , Spock?” he said quietly, letting go of him but still gazing intently into his ashen face. “You’re trying to _deceive_ me?” He shook his head as if chasing away some bad thoughts. “Wanna know the facts? I’ll give you the facts, then. You’re eighty per cent Vulcan…”

“83.7%, doctor,” Spock corrected automatically, in a foolish attempt at derailing him.

Leonard bared his teeth at him. “Don’t be _ridiculous_. This is beneath you, stop it.” A long, exhausted breath escaped him and he turned his attention to the Padd bearing his readings. “Just stop it.”

“My apologies,” the Vulcan whispered, letting out a soft sigh. “Please continue. I will listen.”

“Good. Now, your physiology is 83.7% Vulcan and your brain has nearly nothing of a human’s.” His cerulean eyes flicked upwards for a second to check if Spock had the gall to refute his statement. Upon making sure no objections were coming his way, he went on: “Well, I’m giving you two options: one, you go see a Healer of yours and let them do some voodoo-shit on you; two, you meld with Jim, as you damn well should.” His expression softened visibly, then. “You know he won’t deny you this. He’d bring down the stars for you if you only asked.”

Both the Vulcan’s eyebrows came up in disbelief. “Such a request would be most illogical, and impossible to oblige.”

McCoy’s eyes filled with an emotion that was dangerously close to pity. “Okay, metaphorically, then. This satisfies your Vulcan sensibilities?”

“Somewhat.”

“Great, then you get my meaning alright. You gotta meld with Jim; it’ll solve a lot of your problems.”

Spock fell quiet.

The Doctor raised a warning eyebrow, crossed his arms stiffly. “I can see you’re in need of an incentive: if you don’t do either of these things, your mental instability will grow until I’ll have to prescribe medication to keep it in check, and _neither of us want that_.” He emphatically stressed the last sentence, to ensure his patient heard the threat loud and clear.

The Vulcan got up, more than ready to take his leave from Sickbay. “How long…?” he hastily enquired, wanting to have the full picture before making any potentially life-changing decisions.

“Half a year. Give it or take a few months.”

Spock bit at his lower lip for the fraction of a second. “I understand the gravity of my predicament, doctor,” he said, in the hopes it would be enough for Leonard to dismiss him. The human raised a hand to stop his retreat, and gave him a dispassionate look: “No, I really don’t think you do. _Now,_ I’m giving you one week to decide. After that, I’ll tell Jim myself.”

The First Officer stared at him in horrified surprise, too distracted to even concern himself with the emotion clearly painted all over his face. “Doctor-patient confidentiality…”

“Can go fuck itself if it stands in the way of a full recovery,” McCoy finished pointedly. “Talk to Jim or _I’ll_ do it. And he won’t like it one bit to hear such an important thing from me.” Since Spock kept inching towards the door, the doctor was forced to walk backwards so he could keep standing in front of him. A huff escaped him. “Unless you’d rather meld with your father? In which case I’ll be more than happy to inform him.”

The young Vulcan swallowed rather audibly and paled. “No, thank you, doctor.”

Leonard snickered loudly before waving him off. “Alright, then. You’re free to go. But I _will_ have words with your father.”

As Spock left, he heard him grumble angrily about ‘damn repressed Vulcans’ and ‘mind-voodoo turning their brains into jelly.’

 

* * *

 

 

It had been so long since Spock had last worn Vulcan robes; Jim smiled enthusiastically at him, running his fingers over the heavy alien fabric with great interest, tracing the shape of the high collar all the way down to where two white stripes crossed amid intricate embroidery, then he splayed both hands over his lover’s chest, smoothing down every wrinkle with the outmost care. “You look great in these. You should wear them more often,” he complimented gently, stepping back to admire the way the black robe fell swishing to the floor, a pool of darkness perfectly enveloping the scientist’s lean frame. It made his pale complexion stand out in a mysterious, elfin sort of way, even more so than usual, and the Captain grinned foolishly at him, feeling just a little bit more smitten and thanking the stars for being this lucky.

The half-blood simply ducked his head with customary shyness, offering him the ozh’esta as a manner of acknowledging the praise, but his eyes sparkled intensely, laden with veiled emotions and questions he continued to swallow down. Kirk levelled a hard glance at him, suddenly serious and inquisitive. “Something you need?” he asked, cupping his cheek in his palm so he could not escape his gaze.

Spock thought about his answer for point ninety-nine minutes, weighing his options carefully. The most logical course of action would be, of course, to tell his k’diwa all about his growing problem and the dire need he had for the touch of his mind; the most logical course of action would be to ask him for a meld as the doctor had ordered him to, as his very instinct begged him to, as the Vulcan in him outright _demanded_.

Yet he could not bring himself to say those words, could not even bring himself to _think them_ -it was so much easier said than done, overcoming a fear that had marked his whole being for almost the entirety of his lonely life, a fear that was woven in his very soul, a fear that had made him what he now was, for the better, but most relevantly for the worse. He knew what the outcome would be if he let Jim in: knew it deep in his bones that there would be no hiding, no concealing his two conflicting natures and the absolutely disturbing way in which they clashed against one another, carrying out an infinite repulsive war that made no sense…

He would lose his t’hy’la.

Unbearable.

Yet there was nothing else he could do, nothing but yield to the gravity of his situation and surrender to his fate. After all, not once had the universe been kind to him -nor did it have any logical reason to be. The very idea of tasting Kirk’s disgust directly into his mind made his blood crawl and his heart beat faster, and for the millionth time Spock felt trapped, caged, locked behind suffocating walls that tightened, tightened, tightened around him until all he was conscious of was his own misery, his profound sense of inadequacy, his awareness of how utterly _misfit_ he was, not enough, on no occasion enough, divided between two souls that even if forced together would never -could never- make a whole…

“Hey.” Jim’s fingers swept over his cheekbone, caressing rhythmically, and his voice was barely above a whisper when it reached him, drawing him up and away from the unbecoming swirl of his fears. “I’m still here.” The careful reminder had him swallow and shiver, and the Vulcan leaned into the human’s touch for a brief second, drawing his strength from him. Their eyes met, gazes held for several minutes -he was not certain how many, but found the notion irrelevant anyway- and finally Spock shook his head slowly.

Kirk frowned. “Don’t be like that,” he said gently, no hint of anger or irritation in his tone; his palm never left his skin, the contact offering an endless source of comfort and affection which the telepath soaked up greedily, a trembling breath leaving his lips as he felt his tension ease in spite of everything. “You must tell me if I wanna help. And you know I always do, don’t you, Spock?”

The Vulcan nodded immediately. “I am aware.” He pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead: “But my issue is nothing that can be dealt with in a matter of… twelve point fifty-nine minutes.”

Jim embraced him for a moment, then let go as he went to retrieve the silvery IDIC pin that meant so much to him before placing it on his chest. “Later, then. After the mission.”

Spock watched his Captain in silence, the rosy hue of his cheeks, the golden tan of his skin, the rich green of his command shirt, the mercurial brightness of his irises. It was absurd how important he was to him, how irreplaceable -he wanted to tell him, to call him t’hy’la, to say the word to his face and explain it in all its fullness, to paint the picture of a soulmate and a haven, an oasis and a refuge, safe and unchanging. Instead he leaned forward minutely, subtly requesting to be held again, and his k’diwa did so without hesitation, drawing him within the protective circle of his arms.

_“Foreigner, where is your home?”_

_Perhaps I have found it in you._

He closed his eyes.

He snapped them open again, though, when he felt calloused fingertips come to rest over his psi-points, aligning almost perfectly, and a gasp was wrenched from his mouth from the complex patterns of pleasure and yearning drawn in his brain by the touch. “Jim…”

“You need to meld, don’t you?” That question, uttered so matter-of-factly yet with unfathomable tenderness, undid him completely. He pulled back to stare in sheer horror at the human who had managed to see so far inside him, and again words failed him, leaving him mute and helpless and caught in an impasse he would never surmount.

But once more Kirk was there -standing still and open and accepting, grounding him, giving him purpose -like a planet, he gravitated around the sun, and he wondered fleetingly if the heat and light would consume him, burn him to ashes… For Jim knew, and he could not escape.

“Yes.” It was barely a breath, but Jim did not require confirmation, because he knew.

Jim knew.

“Alright, then.” He smiled, as if it was _no big deal_ , as if it was simple, natural, to offer one’s mind in so casual a fashion. “Come to me when you’re ready.”

Spock’s eyelids fell and he buried his face in his neck, spine creating a graceful arc as he was gently hugged, in a way that made him feel cherished, treasured, unique even. He thought maybe he would trust his t’hy’la not to reject him outright -maybe he ought to, all things considered. Maybe he had not been fair to him, equating him to the endless number of people who had refused him and scorned him and left him; maybe he should give his human a chance, because he was so different, so much _more_ than anyone else…

“I will…” he murmured softly, and it was both a vow and a thank you. “I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that’s it! Fluff as promised! The next three chapters will be part of this arc (this was sort of a prelude) and they’ll be… sort of dark and full of action -think of this one as one ray of sun in the middle of a storm. In this part of the series I'm drifting away from the original series (it's only for five chapters or so, don't worry!) I need to have the characters slowly get there before I can actually... make it so?  
> And anyway, I totally need this for t'hy'la reasons!
> 
> Thank you all so very very very much!


	2. Illusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jim?” Black eyes hard as stone bore into his, devastating his very soul, shattering it only to try and put it back together differently, but he did not want that, he did not, not, not, and he resisted her, as much as he could he resisted her. “Who is Jim? There is no Jim.”
> 
> “No Jim?” The Vulcan’s voice shook as he repeated her words, and they tasted bitter in his mouth, like poison, like death. “No, he is t’hy’la, t’hy’la, where is t’hy’la? T’hy’la, where are you, t’hy’la, I need you, bolau nash-veh t’hy’la…”
> 
> She brushed a finger across his cheek and firmly repeated: “There is no Jim, no t’hy’la. No such thing exists.”
> 
> Spock’s entire world was crumbling to pieces, and she mercilessly crushed his one standing point, his one, dearest belief. “Not true, not true, Jim is t’hy’la, I know, I know, I…” Suddenly, it dawned on him, what he could say to make her see: “Jim is telsu, he…”
> 
> “But you are not telsu. You are not bonded.” She spoke with such unwavering coldness, such cruel, unforgiving certainty… “Where is your proof?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... this is quite a long chapter. I promised telepathy, and here goes! From now on, a battle of minds begins!
> 
> Enjoy!

**_2_ **

**_Illusion_ **

 

They held the embrace for longer than five minutes, then the Vulcan slowly pulled away, composing himself but keeping their hands loosely entwined -a flurry of muted feeling passing between them through the contact- as they walked to the door.

“Nervous?” Jim asked, patting his shoulder lightly; Spock levelled on him the blankest stare in his vast repertoire and smoothly replied: “Certainly not. I am Vulcan.”

“Of course.” A soft chuckle escaped the human, and he quickly dialled his code in the door to unlock it. “I’m sending down four security guards with you. Be careful.”

“Always, _ashayam_.” A moment passed in which Kirk sent him a strange look at the use of this new endearment that he clearly understood, and Spock feared he had overstepped his boundaries, but a winning grin spread across the glowing face of his t’hy’la. “No heroics,” he warned.

A graceful eyebrow arched up immediately. “As our good doctor would say, this is the pot calling the kettle black.”

That surprised a chiming laughter out of Jim, and he pressed a warm kiss to his lips. “You’re priceless,” he said, drawing back with a smirk and leaving him slightly flustered. “Let’s go, then, babe.”

As soon as they went through the door, their attitude towards one another shifted to become more detached, professional: it was easy -natural- to make the transition from lovers to officers, and Captain and Commander paced briskly across the deck, heading for the waiting turbolift. If they happened to stand too close, it was nothing the crew had not seen before; that had been normality between them for years, way before they became romantically involved. Personal space had never really mattered for the two -they breathed the same air, walked the same steps.

They made it to Transporter room in record time, and there they found Lieutenant D’nevla, patiently waiting in front of the four security guards already standing on the platform; when she saw the command team approach, she snapped to attention and smiled brightly at Kirk, eyes sparkling excitedly: “Requesting permission to beam down, sir!” she exclaimed, “I could be of assistance with the negotiations!”

Jim cocked his head to the side, thinking fast, and watched as she exchanged a charged look with Spock, who raised an eyebrow at her and turned towards his Captain: “I would advise you to allow the Lieutenant to join the team. She can be most persuasive.”

The Orion beamed at the Vulcan, and the human snorted softly: “Alright. Don’t do anything illegal, though,” he warned, as a half-joke, then pointed a finger at his First Officer: “I want to hear from you in precisely thirty minutes, Mister.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Six to beam down.”

* * *

“ _‘Of course, sir’_ , he said,” muttered Kirk, nails tapping impatiently just millimetres shy of the controls embedded in the armrests of his chair. “Of course _my ass_.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve lost all contact with the away team -we’re not receiving their signals at all.” Uhura twisted in her seat, thin, well-kept fingers hovering near her earpiece as she skimmed her free hand across her consoles. “It’s no use. I can’t hail them.”

The Captain rose abruptly from his chair and began pacing quickly across the bridge. “Alright, Lieutenant, here’s what we’ll do: I want you to message Starfleet HQ, relaying the situation; tell them the planet is not secure, and is probably under the influence of enemy forces. Make the message encrypted.” He took a breath, clapped his hands once. “Then send a subspace transmission to Ambassador Sarek, the fastest you can manage. You’ll find he’s somewhere on Andoria, and if he’s not, check the surrounding area for incoming shuttles. I wanna see if he knows something about… this.”

“Very well, sir.” Uhura started working immediately, head bowed and lips trembling from time to time as she mouthed soundless codes she had long before learnt by heart.

Kirk turned towards his navigator, who had taken over the Science Station: “Chekov, I want you to devise a sequence that will allow us to break their shields. I want you to tell me at least who they are and what they have done with our away team. See if you can get any Vulcan readings; should be easy considering the number of times he’s managed to get kidnapped in the last year.” This part he added in a clear effort at lighting the mood -after all, nerves were the last thing they needed at the moment- and Pavel gave him a faint smile and a rushed “Of course, sir,” already busy diving into the memory banks of the ship’s computers.

Jim moved then to send a call down to engineering: “Scotty! Come up here, I need your help!”

“Aye, sir! Be right there!”

“Mister Sulu! Put the planet on screen. Max magnification!”

“Maximum magnification, sir.” Sulu nodded curtly; he glanced thoughtfully at his Captain.

“What do you make of it?” Kirk asked, staring unblinkingly at the wide screen now filled with the flickering image of the partially-shielded planet.

The helmsman cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes to slits: “I think we’ve been deceived. Again. Whoever it was the _Intrepid_ made First Contact with, they were definitely just smoke and mirrors. I wonder if there are Klingons or Romulans behind it.”

Jim bit his lip, brushing two fingers against his chin. “Spock said something about a rebel conservative movement trying to take over the planet. I’m guessing they succeeded, but if that’s the case, the Prime Directive forbids us from…”

“Actually, sir, I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” Uhura interrupted, frowning, “From what I’m picking up of their past transmissions I’d say it’s more of a criminal organisation.”

“That so?” Kirk gritted his teeth and sank back in his chair, not allowing his mind to wander -forcing it not to dwell on the soul-deep worry and unbidden but ever-present guilt that always accompanied the potential loss of members of his crew, his people, his responsibility. It was a dark, heavy weight upon his shoulders, but one he had to ignore, at least momentarily, because he owed them as much, owed Spock as much -he needed to be calm and collected and clear headed: there was no room for a Captain to feel. “Be it as it may, my hands are tied.” How it pained him to say so! Just three years before he would have ignored regulations, he would have beamed down planet-side himself to retrieve his missing men, but now he knew better; he knew better than to leave his Silver Lady so close to the Neutral Zone and without his Command Team, knew better than to act that recklessly -he _will_ find a way, but it was going to take so much longer than if he’d simply followed his gut feeling.

He also knew -and so did Spock- that if he had to make a choice between saving his Vulcan and protecting the 412 people currently aboard the Enterprise, there would be no room for doubt: the ship always came first. It was gutting him.

“What can I do ta help ye, Captain Kirk?” Scotty’s thick accent broke the quiet, and the Captain grinned at him, grateful for the unwavering enthusiasm he always showed even in the face of danger; he made a vague gesture towards the navigator: “Go help Chekov; I need those shields down -try out a non-binary sequence, something they can’t predict… maybe something really old? From the 22nd or 21st Century maybe?”

“Aye, sir, let’s see what we can do…”

* * *

 _Rata. Concept_. – Breathe in.

 _Tafar. Mental discipline_. – Breathe out.

 _Tapan. Cerebral process_. – Long pause.

Spock opened his eyes slowly, having achieved a sense of contemplative calm that would be most beneficial to solve his current predicament. He looked dispassionately at the metal bands binding his wrists to the silver wall of the incredibly tiny cell he had been locked into; a sharp, well-measured pull told him there was no way he could break them, so he quickly diverted his focus to the muffled sounds he could barely hear coming from an undetermined point to his left. He couldn’t distinguish the language -couldn’t even make out how many people there were and how far. His eyebrow went up and he wondered at the sense of helplessness this lack of knowledge brought, even if the light meditative state he had plunged himself into prevented him from falling prey to that particular feeling.

He contemplated the possibility of using his telepathy as a means of gaining a better understanding of his surroundings and perhaps finding out what fate had befallen his fellow shipmates, and very carefully he lowered his shields, one by one. Almost at once, he was distracted by what seemed to be a nudge at one of his few surviving familial bonds. Bewildered, he followed the fine thread to meet his interlocutor halfway across the galaxy.

_‘Sa-mekh?’_

_‘Spock, my son.’_ Sarek’s voice filled his mind and the Vulcan blinked several times in surprise. _‘Your Captain contacted me. He demanded that I_ check up on you _. His words, not mine.’_

_‘I am currently being held hostage by an unknown threat.’_

_‘I had surmised as much.’_

_‘I regret being unable to be more specific.’_ Through the link, Spock could feel his father’s faint amusement at his snarky tone filtering through, but it was gone in the fraction of a second.

 _‘Are you unhurt?’_ the Ambassador demanded.

 _‘I received a blow to the head, though it is not serious.’_ He pulled against his restraints again, unsuccessfully. He did realise, of course, that Sarek was shouldering all the weight of keeping a bond open across so long a distance, so he thought he should give him room to end the conversation at leisure. It was most gracious of his father to make such an effort, and the young Vulcan considered acknowledging the gesture, but as he was unsure whether he ought to mention it at all, he kept quiet.

 _‘Captain Kirk wishes me to contact Starfleet,’_ the Ambassador told him bluntly. Again, an undercurrent of indulgent amusement passed between them, as Sarek recalled the steely, demanding expression painted over the human’s face. _You must give me time_ , Jim had nearly ordered, _tell them whatever you like, I need at least an hour before I am forced to leave orbit. Please_ , he had added, a flash of worry passing across his burning eyes, though his voice never wavered.

 _‘Does he?’_ was all Spock could think of replying.

_‘He believes me to have much more power over Starfleet than what I effectively have.’_

_‘Indeed?’_

Sarek sent the equivalent of a nod down their bond, and his son suddenly felt the subject closing; again, he wondered if he should make his gratitude known and sever the connection, but his father spoke again, words coming slow and measured: _‘There is another reason why I chose to contact you.’_ He paused briefly to ensure he had all of his attention (which of course he did, when had Spock not given his father all of his attention and more?) before he disclosed his motives: _‘I have noticed your mind is highly unstable, my son. It is troubling that you have let this go so far, I trust you are aware of that.’_

Spock bowed his head, though he could not see. A faint blush of embarrassment tinted his cheeks, and he was thoroughly appreciative of the fact that he was alone in his cell. _‘I am,_ _Sa-mekh_.’

_‘I have spoken to your doctor and he agrees you require mental contact -I am quite sure your Captain would oblige if asked. He is a most impressive human, after all.’_

Such gratuitous praise surprised the scientist, whose eyes popped wide open and stayed like that for the split second it took him to master his shock. _‘Yes, father, trust me, I do know…’_

 _‘Do you plan to take him as your bondmate?’_ The question came unexpected, and Spock felt the tips of his ears heat at the thought of sharing so personal a conversation with his father.

_‘I… I do, if he is amenable.’_

_‘I believe he will be.’_

Taken aback, the First Officer hastily said: _‘Thank you, father,’_ and regretted it almost at once: he was certain the Vulcan was now raising an eyebrow at his very human response.

_‘Do not thank me, for it is illogical. I am merely stating the truth.’_

_‘Of course.’_ Spock gave another, useless pull at his restraints, succeeding in making the chains tingle and clink unpleasantly. _‘I take this to mean you would not object?’_ he asked, when the shrill ringing in his ears had subsided.

 _‘I see no reason to. I approve of him as an individual and as your companion. He has done New Vulcan much good in the past years.’_ The young Vulcan could picture his father crossing his arms just beneath his chest and dipping his chin just so; though it had been quite long since he had spent an extensive amount of time in his presence, those little, familiar gestures had stayed well imprinted in his eidetic memory. _‘And I think your mother would have said… The two of you are made for each other.’_ Sarek’s tone softened unperceptively when he mentioned his late bondmate.

 _‘We are t’hy’la,’_ Spock quietly confessed.

_‘I suspected as much. And I would advise you to tell him as soon as you have the chance.’_

_‘I… of course, father.’_

_‘Young Saavik will be pleased.’_

_‘How is she?’_

_‘She is faring well. She wishes to know when you will visit again.’_

_‘I shall, at the earliest convenience. Provided, of course, that I survive this situation.’_

_‘Of course.’_

With that, he severed the connection, even though Spock could still feel his presence, monitoring him from a distance.

* * *

Chekov and Scotty were talking so fast and so low that Jim could grasp only a word or two every few minutes: a good sign, he had learned, and he left them in peace, wandering towards Nyota’s station. “Any news from Starfleet?”

The woman shook her head curtly, eyes never wavering from her console. “They seem to be waiting for us to update them.”

“But…” Kirk began, unsure what his objection would be -he knew only that an objection had to be made, because it was unheard of, that Starfleet should leave the flagship in the dark, mere lightyears from enemy space, with six people dispersed on a planet. Uhura raised her hand brusquely, effectively silencing him, and the Captain leaned down to examine the garbled traces painted on her screen. She swore softly under her breath. “I’m receiving something from the surface, but it gets twisted on the way out…” she murmured, biting her lip. “It’s the shielding -I’ve never seen anything quite like it, not even Vulcan had such advanced technology…”

“Is it the message or the signal itself that gets ruined?” Jim asked calmly.

Nyota swiped a finger on the screen to show a magnified picture of the incoming message. “I have retraced the history of the transmission. The signal is broken to pieces here, here, and here,” she explained, tapping lightly at three different points: where a straight line should have been, knots and curves were present. “Then it is reassembled into something barely comprehensible. But the message changes a little after -it gets spoiled beyond reconnection.”

“I see…” Kirk frowned. “And this happens for every transmission from the surface?”

“Yes! It is almost as if…”

“As if there are five different shields, and not just one!” Blue eyes burned bright as the Captain straightened his back again. “You’re a genius, Lieutenant. Send that graph to the Science Station, I bet Scotty and Chekov can make good use of it!”

A chorus of ‘Aye, sir’ echoed through the bridge, and Jim returned to his chair, picking up a Padd and resuming his perusal of Spock’s report on the planet, which was surprisingly short and minimalistic -especially if compared to the Vulcan’s usually verbose descriptions: if there was a way to write even the simplest things using a whole paragraph, trust his First Officer to have found it. And yet, as he read on, he realised Starfleet had little-to-nothing information on the planet below, and, more troubling still, on its people. He had not noticed before because he had gotten used to having to be the one who collected facts for the Fleet to use and divulge, but now that he thought about it, it was obvious the first ship had been deceived. A small sigh escaped him as he wondered crossly how it was possible that such things still happened in the 23rd-freaking-Century.

* * *

 

The soft sound of nearly inaudible steps alerted him to the fact that someone was approaching fast, and Spock opened his eyes slowly and emerged from his meditative state, all senses immediately alert. In the dimly lit room, he could not see very well, but the scent that now reached his nostrils was alien and unlike anything he had ever smelled before. He stood still, bound hands and feet to the silvery wall, and waited.

A dark presence filled the tiny space, and the Vulcan’s head whipped to the side as he felt someone was hovering mere steps from him; with some difficulty, he could make up the contours of a long, slim body. “Why, Mister Spock. Fancy meeting you here.”

“I do not believe this qualifies as a meeting,” the Starfleet Officer replied smoothly, watching as his captor waved a hand through the air behind them. At once, a bright, greenish light blinked on, washing over them.

Had the person in front of him been fully Betazoid, he would have said without question they were female, but he was not completely sure, for around her black onyx eyes danced dark stripes not much different from Jaylah’s, her ears were pointed and shaped like fins, on her forehead vibrated a pair of thin antennae and her skin was a pale lilac; she seemed to be born from a combination of at least three alien species -but how could that be? When she smiled at him, he saw she had pointed teeth.

“You look even cuter up close,” she drawled, and her voice was flowing water, clear and vaguely accented.

“What has become of my team?” the Vulcan asked at once, maintaining a steady tone and not sparing a moment to wonder at her impossible appearance. “I wish to speak to them.”

“I did not know you could talk to the dead, Mister Spock.” She batted her lashes slowly, exposing violet eyelids, and her long-fingered hand came to rest mere inches from the left side of his face; Spock refused to flinch, refused to even glance in that direction. Rage and sorrow alike began to rise within him, but he pushed them away, mind cold and unwavering, and monitored those threatening feelings as if from a distance, conscious of the danger giving them free reign over his words and actions would bring. Now was not the time to dwell on the guilt spilling from the knowledge that he had failed in protecting his people, it was not the time to realise he had lost his oldest friend and gentlest ally, it was not the time to think about how crushed Jim would be when none of them returned…

He heard a flutter like feathers brushing nearby. It was gone before he could even divert part of his attention to it.

“Oh, how touching. You worry about your human Captain, and not for your life.”

“Kindly refrain from invading my mind,” Spock icily said, strengthening his shields. His captor showed him a soft yet menacing smile, and shook her head of spiky white hair twice: “No shields will work against me. Not inside this special room I had designed just for you, my intriguing Mister Spock.”

The Vulcan bared his teeth a little at that, and immediately set to work at repressing all those thoughts that were private or classified; it was a nearly unbearable endeavour, but he would leave nothing untried. He was sure she knew of his intent, even if she did not comment on it.

“You have escaped me once, my pretty hybrid. I’ll make sure you stay right here this time.”

“I was not aware we knew each other before now,” Spock carefully observed, raising a mocking eyebrow at her in the hope of tricking her into giving him more information.

“Why, I daresay you remember. You were _just_ precious. You murdered all my staff, didn’t you?” She chuckled quietly, a delicate chiming sound that somehow managed to be full of sharp indifference. Clearly, those deaths had not affected her in the slightest. “And you left with all the children. Your dearest Captain made quite the mess of my expensive equipment.”

Her nails were ticking rhythmically beside his ear, and he found himself fighting the urge to pull away -it was unnerving. He focused on the noise and his own discomfort to prevent himself from even acknowledging any reaction he might have had from hearing her words; she appeared to sense his struggle, and her antennae twitched. “I admire your will, child, but it’s pointless to resist.”

“What is it you want?” Spock hissed, still attempting to render his mind blank.

“You, my fascinating hybrid.” She moved to stand right into his personal space; her breath fanned his cheek as she whispered, and it was nearly frosty: “I wish to free you. I wish to make you mine.”

“Those statements contradict each other,” the Vulcan objected, “And I belong to no one. Certainly not you.”

“Yes, that is true,” she laughed, taking another step forward and tracing a fingertip across the back of his hand. Spock felt a surge of bitter disgust fill his throat, and was forced to swallow it down; this time, though, he jerked his hand away as if burned. “ _Do not_ ,” he growled.

“You truly believe you belong with your Captain, don’t you?” she asked, letting go of him to cross her arms; they seemed to disappear under the folds of her black robe. “So young, so naïve. So dependent and needy of approval.” An indulgent, almost pitying smile graced her face, and she cocked her head to the side, contemplating him as she went on: “You have much to learn, youngling. You are completely unaware of your potential, are you? They convinced you- have they not?- that you are not as good as them, and now you’ve accepted theirs as your only truth.” Her smile vanished. “You’ve settled for the Enterprise and for the humans because they’re the lesser of two evils; you offer your loyalty and yourself to Captain Kirk because you don’t know you can do infinitely better.”

Both of Spock’s eyebrows were raised now. “You are wrong,” he stated simply, “There is much you do not understand.”

“Is there?” she mused, “We are so very alike, you and I. In time, I shall make you _see_.”

“I doubt it.”

“You do? Well, we can start by ridding you of your toxic beliefs.” And with a move so quick her hand blurred, she snatched the silvery IDIC pin from his chest and raised it in front of her face. “ _Infinite diversity in infinite combinations_ … The height of Vulcan hypocrisy. Erase it from your mind.” 

He knew what she was about to do a second before she did it, and braced himself for the shriek the metal made when she crushed it between her fingers, disfiguring the symbol beyond repair. He shuddered, both because of the pain in his ears and from the sight.

“Ah, yes…” she murmured as if he had cried out, “A gift from your beloved human mother, was it not? We will discuss her at length during our next encounter. In the meanwhile, my cute, conflicted half-blood… _Fare thee well_.”

She left through a door that faded into the wall as soon as she was out, and only then did the chains forcing him upright release.

Spock fell down to the floor, cradling his head in his hands, finally allowing himself the luxury of contemplating the gravity of his situation.

* * *

 

“Captain, we have isolated the source of the incoming message!” Uhura’s chiming voice broke the silence that had come to fill the bridge like an ominous presence, and she turned in her chair, a victorious glow lighting her face.

“Aye, sir, ‘tis one of ours!” Scotty said, his accent thickening with the depth of his preoccupation; his fingers were tapping frantically at the screen. He and Chekov were trading muttered formulas, speaking quickly and with purpose, while Nyota traced complicated patterns on her panel.

“Yes!” crowed Kirk, getting up in a blink and dashing towards the station. “Let’s hear, let’s hear!”

“Yes, sir, a moment, I just need to… There!” The communications officer pulled away her earpiece and crossed her arms as the message was finally allowed to reach them.

“ _– copy? Enterprise, do you copy? This is – D’nevla! Do you copy?_ ”

“We hear you loud and clear, Lieutenant!” Jim all but screamed. “Status report!”

“ _Captain!_ ” The young Orion’s voice was laden with deep relief. “ _Security’s dead, Captain – they have Mister Spock, they’d wanted him all along, it was a trap…_ ”

Kirk’s eyes darkened dangerously, and his voice went soft, a layer of forced calm lending it a deadly quality that made each word sound like a threat. “Where is he now? Is a rescue attempt possible?”

“ _I’m sorry, sir, they left – they’re on a ship, a cloaked ship, nothing I’ve ever seen before!_ ”

“Cloaked?!” Scotty echoed, disbelief written in the hard curve of his mouth, “But that cannae be possible, not even the Romulans have managed ta reach that level of…” he trailed off because D’nevla was speaking again.

“ _Sir, I caught one of them, a human, I have him subjugated for now but it won’t last much longer…_ ”

“Excellent, Lieutenant,” said Jim in a half-growl, “Stand by, we’re beaming you up.” He motioned for Mister Scott to follow him to the turbolift. “Mister Sulu, there’s no point in staying in orbit; plot the fastest course for the nearest Starbase and be ready to leave as soon D’nevla is on board.

“Uhura, alert Security we’re beaming up a prisoner, then contact the Admiralty, brief them on what’s been going on here, and _kindly_ request permission to look further in the matter. I want to know why this is the second time in a few months that a criminal organisation has managed to kidnap my First Officer. Oh, and you might want to inform Sarek of this, too.

“Chekov, you have the conn -I know this isn’t exactly regulation, but I need Sulu at the helm. Also, I’m gonna have to ask you to man Spock’s station for a little while longer.

“Scotty -let’s go!”

D’nevla was a mess of cuts and bruises when she was beamed up; laying at her feet was a nearly unconscious middle-aged man whose face was marred by what were the remains of severe burns, wrinkled scars that slid down his jaw and under the high neck of his completely black attire. Kirk ordered him to be taken to the brig, then smiled gently at the Orion, helping her down the platform. “You’d better get to Sickbay,” he murmured. “I’ll join you there in ten minutes or so.”

“Yes, sir.” She lingered for a moment or two, staring at the floor, brow furrowed and a restless glint in her black eyes.

The Starship Captain regarded her with an expression that was nothing like the one of carefully controlled anger he had worn before; he was reassuring and full of sympathy, offering all his understanding and patience because she needed them: “You did well, Lieutenant,” he told her, “It’s good to know you at least are alive. Now off you go!”

“Thank you, sir!”

She left, and Jim walked slowly towards his quarters, where he would have to personally call the families of each of his fallen crewmen -how many people had he lost already? Was he still too young, was he still too inexperienced? Would another, more mature, Captain have done better? Would they have prevented this?

He sighed, but only because there was no one around to see him.

* * *

 

Spock sat rigidly on the floor, hands bound behind his back and aching as he pressed himself to the cold wall, striving to put as much distance between him and his captor as possible. She was kneeling in front of him, speaking softly as she held a holo-transmitter between her chiselled hands, so that its projected image occupied most of the space inside the tiny cell. “It was a clean affair, wasn’t it?” she whispered, watching dispassionately as the three-dimensional video played, “That Red Matter was quite the fancy thing. Pity it was destroyed when you blew up Nero’s ship -I had planned to get it once it had swallowed down Earth, too.”

The Vulcan shivered, feeling raw and quite out of control, mind pliant and horribly exposed -he wanted to close his eyes, he honestly did, but they were glued to the sight of his planet, his beautiful, missing planet. It was as if his will had been wrenched away from him, and now he could only stare as his Ah’rak disappeared into the void; this was the video filmed from the station on Delta Vega, the perfect picture of what his counterpart had been forced to see, and for some reason Spock had never participated so much of his pain, had never come so near to understanding the grief come from a different reality he would never know, the grief from a future that was not his own.

Such grief should have been _private_ , and yet _she_ …

“Why are you showing me this?” he demanded in a broken whisper, “What purpose could it serve?”

Black eyes fell upon his ashen face, and a hint of surprise mixed with concern filled the otherwise impassive expression of his captor. “The sight of your dying planet causes you to hurt, when it should not. After all the evil Vulcan has brought you… Still you weep its loss. Why?”

He swallowed, momentarily incapable of offering a response -why? He had asked himself as much many, many times. Why had he always believed himself to be tied to a place that would have never become a home, a refuge? Why had he always refused to give up his quest for acceptance in a world that would only reject him, times and times again?

“I…”

_Why?_

“You were never happy there,” she pointed out gently.

It was true, and he had countless memories to prove that, memories that seemed to resurface all at once, mashed together in a wave of faces and feelings, ripped from his past by the sheer power of her telepathy. The alien woman smiled sadly at him: “Don’t you see?” she questioned, “Don’t you see the injustice of this?”

And he did. He saw himself as a small child surrounded by adults who towered over him, and he would tilt his head back and wonder at the unkind curiosity with which they regarded him… He saw the other youths shy away from him as if he was some foreign contaminant, he saw them whisper as he walked by, saw the mistrust apparent in their Vulcan eyes, in the very Vulcan way they held themselves, in the Vulcan words they used to describe him, he saw…

“I believe this is enough,” Spock murmured, striving to tear his mind from its unpleasant journey. “Your argument is invalid. The pain inflicted to me as an individual is nothing compared to the enormity of the loss of an entire planet, an entire species, an entire culture.” He rested the back of his head against the wall, too, because even so small a refusal had taken a great toll on his energies, and he was drained and vaguely dizzy.

“But this culture you speak of… Is it worth preserving?” She had allowed him to break free from the memories and was now observing him with an air of engrossment that he found most disagreeable.

“Of course.” The answer came to his lips in a rush.

“Of course.” She chuckled. “Oh, my dear Mister Spock, you truly are a child to still believe in fables.” She set aside the holo-transmitter and slowly crawled towards him to press her palm against his cheek; transfixed by a contact which tasted unexpectedly of true, genuine worry, he did not recoil, and listened, wide-eyed, as she went on talking: “You do not see the world as it is, but as _it should be_. I, too, was that young and foolish once.”

“If I am such a child to you, then I do not understand the appeal of keeping me here.”

She smiled a small, sad smile. “No,” she mused, “You would not.” A sigh escaped her, and she pulled back a little. “You have a powerful mind, hybrid, and your telepathy, though shamefully neglected, has vast potential. You have no idea.”

Spock blinked. “Then you plan on making me your slave?”

“I plan on making you my _ally_ ,” she carefully corrected, “Like your mother once was to you. Yes, she was the only one who accepted you for what you were, the only one who came close to understanding a fraction of the greatness you could achieve. But do you know how much you pained her when you struggled to purify humanity out of your mind and soul?”

The Vulcan simply nodded, by now resigned to the fact that she could pry whatever information she desired directly from his brain.

“That world you so admire hated you and your mother and your brother too.” Her antennae waved slightly as she settled more comfortably on the floor. “Your brother was quite an interesting person. He claimed to be your ally also, but he loved to use you as his little guinea pig, didn’t he?”

He closed his eyes. Of course Sybok had cared for him; he remembered idolising him for being different and proudly so, he remembered seeking him out for validation and assurance as a small child, he remembered how it had crushed him when T’Pau had banished the young rebel for his revolutionary ideas, remembered how frightened he had been that it would be his fate also if he was not _Vulcan enough_ … And yet it was true as well that Sybok had played quite a lot with his mind as they grew up together. It was true that he had painted his mindscape in weird, confusing colours, twisting his perception of reality only to bring it back to what it had been.

It had never occurred to him to deny his brother this.

Was it wrong?

“Yes, it was wrong, child,” his captor assured him, “You should have been as outraged then as you are now of my intrusion in your thoughts. Do not worry, it is not your fault. The universe has derived great pleasure from taking advantage of your innocence.”

“…My innocence.”

“Yes, but do not fret. I will free you -I will make you strong and unyielding, and you will never again have to suffer the injustice us misfits are always subject to. You will belong to yourself and not with others.”

“I do not wish to become like you,” Spock hissed, shaking his head as if to clear it, “I do not wish to be yours. My place is on the bridge by my Captain’s side, my _home_ is the Enterprise, it is the life I have chosen for myself and you have taken it from me.” He curled his upper lip in a faint, tired growl. “ _You_ are violating me.”

“My poor child, hoping to be rescued by his human t’hy’la. Rest assured – you won’t even remember the word by the time I’m done with you.”

* * *

 

Jim stared intently at the prisoner who sat motionlessly on the other side of the force field.

“I’m sorry, Captain, but… If I were to keep using my influence on him, he would begin to say just about anything that might please me. It wouldn’t be reliable. It wouldn’t be the truth.” D’nevla shook her head slowly, backing off a little so the trapped human would not be able to see her. McCoy had fixed her up in a matter of minutes, and now he was standing very close to the tiny cell, arms crossed and glare ominous.

“We could take him to the nearest Starbase and use the Veritas device on him, Jim,” Bones said quite reasonably, “Unless you’d prefer something stronger? In which case I would be more than happy to oblige.”

Kirk arched an eyebrow in an unconscious imitation of his First Officer, not entirely certain that the doctor was speaking in jest -his tone was bitter and his eyes were still trailed on their captive. “That’s not allowed, Bones,” he warned, not letting even the faintest note of tiredness seep into his voice. “We’re just going to have to find an… alternative. We can’t leave this in the hands of the authorities -they would take way too much time and by then Spock could very well be…”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about your halfling,” the black-clad man interjected suddenly, in a dazed yet sure tone, “He won’t be killed. That would be a waste.” He turned away from them and fell back into indifferent silence as soon as the last word had left his ruined mouth.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Nyota demanded, stepping forward, framing the door with both arms splayed wide, a snarl on her face. “What are you going to _do_ to him?”

If the man was intimidated by her outburst, he did not let it show. “Ordinaries like you would not understand,” he stated matter-of-factly, “My Mistress will free him.”

“ _Free_ him?”

The four officers exchanged puzzled glances, then the Captain pressed a hand to Uhura’s shoulder, urging her to calm down a little. “He’s toying with us,” he whispered, low enough that only she could hear, “He’s taking advantage of the fact that we care, and he clearly doesn’t. You can’t…”

She broke free of his grip and offered him a hard, blazing look: “I’m sorry, sir, but I won’t stand for this. It’s either he talks now, or we’ll be too late.” And with that, she dialled the force field open and slipped inside the cell.

“Lieutenant! Stop!”

Before their captive could even begin to stand she had him pinned to the furthest wall, one knee to his groin and her phaser pushed into his throat. Jim and D’nevla immediately drew their own weapons, and Leonard readied a hypo with a strong sedative, and they waited.

Nyota glanced into nearly white eyes that held no emotions, and bared her teeth gracefully, an aura of righteous anger surrounding her as she held the criminal still with her full weight, twisting his arm behind his back. “You will speak,” she warned, “Either today or in a week in front of a tribunal, you _will speak_.” She dug the heel of her phaser into his collarbone and brought the tip of her boot to rest against his shin. “So save us all some trouble and tell us everything you know.”

McCoy started inching inside, careful of not making any noise and prepared to sedate the prisoner should the need arise. A snort came from the captive. “It’s moot. You won’t get him back. He belongs to _us_ now.”

Completely unfazed, Uhura replied: “Oh? And who’s _us_?”

“We are every _one_ , every _where_ ,” he calmly recited, “We are the shadow cast by your beloved Federation. And that half-breed? He’ll have the darkest one of all.”

Kirk frowned. _Everyone, everywhere_ … he had heard the phrase before -was it a slogan? It sounded familiar. He was about to ask him to elaborate when the man abruptly pulled away from the Lieutenant’s hold, sending her crashing to the floor. She was up in a blink, and as her Captain and the Orion converged at her sides, she aimed a kick at the criminal’s stomach. The doctor slipped behind him and shot him with the hypo, not bothering to catch him as he fell down.

“Well, Uhura,” Jim muttered, “That was daunting. Don’t do it again.”

“Yes, sir.” She brushed aside McCoy’s scrutiny of her wrist and stepped outside the cell, sweeping her long ponytail away from her shoulders. The others were already following her, but D’nevla called them back: she had crouched by the human’s head and was examining his right forearm with interest. “You might want to see this,” she said slowly, “It was the same symbol printed all over that damned… place. This weird flower -the likes of which I’ve never seen in my whole life. It’s… a strange combination of different plants, I think the spiked one is Betazoid, but the others…”

Jim’s eyes widened with recognition and horror as he hurried by. “Run that past me again?”

The scientist looked up, surprised to find her Captain fighting to mask the signs of deep agitation. “The flower, sir. It’s Betazoid.”

“No, not that, what you said before…”

She frowned, lips twitching. “That it’s a combination of three different plants?”

“You’re absolutely positive of that, right?” Kirk urged, grabbing the prisoner’s arm to look more closely at the colourful tattoo depicting what to the distracted eye could appear like a very poorly drawn Terran rose. “No doubts?”

“No doubts about that, sir, none.”

The Starship Captain paled visibly. “Damn. Oh, dammit!” he swore under his breath, getting up in a flash and dashing away, “Dammit, dammit, dammit, _dammit_!”

* * *

 

“No… get out… get out of my mind…” Spock flattened himself against the wall, nails digging into the metal as he groped for purchase, for anything to keep him anchored to reality and _sane_. “ _Kroikah… Kroikah… Kroikah!_ ” Out of instinct and despair, he reverted to his native tongue, and it was all he could do to stop the pleading that was cluttering his throat, because she… she… she.

“My child, you are starved for mental contact,” his captor said reasonably, brushing her consciousness against his, “You have been starving yourself for years. Surely you realise you need this.”

“ _No! No!_ ” he gasped, pushing against her touch, pupils blown wide in fear and jaw stubbornly set. “No… I do not need… Not _you_ …” His whole body was shaking with the effort of denying her access to his innermost thoughts, to the place where his essence -everything that defined him as a being- was. He was so tired, so tired. He did not know how many days had passed since he had been abducted, and he had yet to eat and even _drink_ … “Not you… _Jim_ …”

“Jim?” Black eyes hard as stone bore into his, devastating his very soul, shattering it only to try and put it back together differently, but _he did not want that_ , he did not, not, not, and he resisted her, as much as he could he resisted her. “Who is Jim? There is no Jim.”

“No Jim?” The Vulcan’s voice shook as he repeated her words, and they tasted bitter in his mouth, like poison, like death. “No, he is t’hy’la, t’hy’la, where is t’hy’la? T’hy’la, where are you, t’hy’la, I need you, _bolau nash-veh t’hy’la_ …”

She brushed a finger across his cheek and firmly repeated: “There is no Jim, no t’hy’la. No such thing exists.”

Spock’s entire world was crumbling to pieces, and she mercilessly crushed his one standing point, his one, dearest belief. “Not true, not true, Jim is t’hy’la, I know, I know, I…” Suddenly, it dawned on him, what he could say to make her see: “Jim is _telsu_ , he…”

“But you are not _telsu_. You are not bonded.” She spoke with such unwavering coldness, such cruel, unforgiving certainty… “Where is your proof?”

Oh, he had proof, he had an infinite number of bright smiles that gave him strength and countless soft touches and sparkling blue eyes so full of kindness and resolve and the light of a young, bold star and the heat of the sun upon the desert, hair the colour of sand and arms that wrapped around him with care and a voice, a name, memories of games played together and chess matches and acceptance and tangled bedsheets and nights spent keeping vigil in Sickbay and private jokes and comforting banter and sweet routines and adventures shared, the terror of losing one another, the relief in finding they were safe again…

But it was slipping away from him, fading like paper dissolving in water, and even as he held on to that name, to those feelings, to that wonderful idea of belonging to someone, he realised they had all lost meaning, they were void, they were gone… Still he clung to them, to their phantom imprints.

_T’hy’la._

_T’hy’la._

“T’hy’la will come.” Spock gritted his teeth together and made himself keep standing, ignoring the burning ache in his thighs, for he would face his enemy like a Vulcan, head held high with dignity and pride. “You have no power upon me… Stay _out_ of my mind…” And with all his might he pushed and pushed, shaping a new, different shield, diamond-hard and ice-cold, ripe with the loss he had been forced to bear. _T’hy’la_. He would not let himself be tainted by such a creature, he would sooner die of mental starvation than form a link with her, he would _never_ allow it, he would never yield to her seduction…

She smiled softly. “You have such a great mind. But you waste it on foolish things like this illusion of yours… There will be no t’hy’la; you’d better accept my offer, or you risk insanity. This shield you put up is nought but your swan song.”

For a moment, he very nearly gave up – she was right, he was starving, aching, lost… Yet he remembered his t’hy’la’s scent, remembered the taste of his kisses (kisses to the mouth, _my lips to your lips_ , a different kiss than what he was used to) and _what would I do without you?_

_‘What would I do without you?’_

_T’hy’la. T’hy’la, I swore… I swore you would never have to find out…_

“There is no t’hy’la. It is nothing but an old legend. Like fairies were for humans.”

Ah. Yes. He knew it was a legend -he clearly recalled, perhaps more clearly than he should have, (perhaps _she_ was making the memory so bright and tangible and _there_ ) his mother telling him about it as he held the heavy book with both his tiny hands. He was also sure he had spent an inordinate amount of time contemplating the fascinating potential of a t’hy’la bond, fantasizing -he had been reluctant to accept what he perceived to be a way of deceiving himself into thinking such a blessing could ever be meant for him, and yet he had found himself falling for it…

“Don’t you see it, Spock, my child? It is only an illusion. It’s understandable: you were lonely and hurting, and sought relief. But no more. I am here now. No more loneliness.”

His mind was curiously blank -not blank in the literal sense, as in _devoid of writing, images, or marks_ , but blank as in filled with bubbles, large spaces of void busting through it and swallowing it whole. “No more?” he murmured.

“No more.”

His eyes flashed. Logic dictated what she said was true, and yet he felt compelled to question it because it was she who had spoken; he resisted her because that was what he had been doing all along, ever since she had taken him -taken him from _where_?

Spock frowned, struggling against his own brain in the effort of reclaiming memories that had vanished beneath a hazy cloud. _T’hy’la. I know thee, t’hy’la, I know thee._

But he could not see, he could not hear…

There had been a voice, he was sure, calling his name in so many different ways, with joy and concern, elation and teasing, fear and anger, compassion and sweetness; there had been a _smile_.

A thousand smiles that had become his home.

But he, a half-breed who had spent his life trying to socialise and failing spectacularly, had no home.

No home, and yet… t’hy’la.

_A golden young man laying on a bed as he, Spock, worked silently on a Padd. He was resting his head on the Vulcan’s thigh, arching his neck gracefully as green-tinged fingers brushed through his hair. Blue eyes sparkled in pleasure and delight as a small, secretive smile graced the half-blood’s face…_

Spock clenched his teeth, fighting to keep the memory -the illusion?- alive, and it was so difficult when so many things were simultaneously too _wrong_ and too _right_. In the past, had he had a lover? But he was bonded to T’Pring, how could that be? And a human lover at that; one who could make him smile, though he never did, not even for his mother, it was not allowed.

Impossible.

And _yet_. The _Silver Lady_ and the _Golden Captain_ … Home… He had _friends_. One who sang as he played and one who stood by him in the laboratories and one with whom he always, playfully, fought, and another who was a botanist and loved plants even more than he did, and a young one who was a Russian and a genius, and one who had a Scottish accent and always knew what to say to ease the tension. _He had friends_.

“In that world, no one would befriend you,” the woman said, her tone one of pity. “Stop creating illusions, it will only hurt you.”

And Spock looked once more into her eyes and knew he did not have the strength to fight her for much longer.

_Oh, t’hy’la. Please. Help me._

 

* * *

 

 

“There, it’s done,” huffed Jim, looking up from his personal Padd for the first time in four hours. “Now, for the last sequence…” He groaned. “I really need to memorise it.”

He pushed his chair back to rummage inside his drawer; after emptying it of its contents, which were laid without too many compliments on the desk, he slid a nail between its side and the base, lifting the latter with a little effort. Then he picked a flattened, minuscule, yellowish piece of paper that had belonged to him for years. He fed the sequence scribbled upon it in permanent ink to the encryption code he had devised on his Padd, and finally set about writing a message.

 

_Brother,_

_It’s J. I need your help. Please contact me asap_.

 

He re-read it twice, double-checking before he sent it. “There, that’s just about it,” he muttered. He leaned back into his chair and brought a hand to his forehead, feeling the beginnings of a migraine building up. _Damn it. Not now!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... here we go. We are quickly catching up with what I've actually written, so updates will slow down soon (I apologise but it's inevitable) though I have everything planned, I still need to do the writing and editing. Much explanation is due in the next chapter, and I promise I’ll deliver it!  
> Thank you so very much for sticking with me! I am so grateful and happy!
> 
> LLAP


	3. T'hy'la

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He found himself enveloped in warmth – a half-forgotten embrace, something familiar and right– as the human wrapped both arms around him protectively and held him tightly, burying his nose in his messy hair. “Oh, Spock, I’m sorry it took so long, I’m sorry, I’m…”
> 
> “How do I know you are… not hers… too?” The Vulcan’s icy hands were crawling up his chest, clearly uncertain whether to push him away or pull him closer. “How do I… trust you?”
> 
> Kirk set his jaw and pulled back so he could look him in the eye: “Meld with me. Meld with me, and see if you can trust me.”
> 
> “Meld…?” Spock repeated softly, completely baffled because no one would ever wish to touch his mind, would they, his mind was… wrong… and even though he so clearly needed the contact, a voice in the back of his head begged him to refuse, against all logic and common sense it begged him to refuse, to protect this person who offered himself so willingly.
> 
> “Do it,” the Captain ordered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm... Sorry I took so long? I have an exam coming up and have been trying to study five years' worth of Latin in two weeks.
> 
> Here's next part! With angst, fluff, and much love!!  
> Please, enjoy!

**_3_ **

**_T’hy’la_ **

 

Spock came to in a daze and found he was laying prone on a soft surface; above him shone pale white lights, and on his left side was a wall. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, the half-Vulcan pushed his weight on his arm and rolled to his right, ending up kneeling on clean, synthetic tiles. His gaze swept the small room, and he quickly identified it as a cell, the wide transparent door made of a strong twinkling force field.

So he had been kidnapped; it was a logical hypothesis, seeing that his father was a rather renowned Ambassador and had gathered an impressive number of enemies.

“Interesting,” he mouthed silently, taking notice that he was also quite hungry, and that his throat was burning with thirst. One eyebrow arched gracefully when he realised that, sitting invitingly at the foot of the small bed, were a wide plate of what were clearly vegetarian delicacies and a glass full of water.

His training told him he should not touch the food nor the water; he knew not what they might contain: they could very well be poison, and without his tricorder…

His _tricorder_? He did not own that kind of sophisticated gadgets, they belonged on starships and laboratories. And… _what_ training? He had most definitely never trained, if one did not count Vulcan martial arts -he had never even left his planet… He was about to complete the exams necessary to be accepted at the VSA, where he would study, and eventually become a teacher, a good teacher, the best. After all, it wasn’t as if he’d ever act on his foolish, secret wish of joining the Fleet…

Would he?

He was dangerously disoriented, but he could still read his body perfectly, and it told him he had a huge memory gap, because he most definitely was _not_ seventeen.

He glanced once more at the plate and glass, then left them untouched and went to kneel on the bed, turning his attention inwards to prepare for meditation.

What he found inside his mind had him gasping in a matter of minutes.

Of the intricate, tightly-woven web of vibrating bonds he once had, only a few remained, scattered among a burnt field of broken, useless links; the only familial bonds he had left were the dormant one still connecting him to Sybok and the one he shared with his father, but that too was muted, as if something was blocking it. And there was… so much pain. He shivered and recoiled, returning to observing his surroundings with newfound worry, perhaps even terror.

He knew not where he was or why, he had lost at least a decade worth of memories, his telepathy was running askew, his mind was strangely pliant and loose, his shields not in place. He appeared to be waiting for someone, a faceless someone -the ghost of a smile, a flash of gold- a stranger without a name or a story. A person he trusted, though he had no idea how they were to find him…

But he was _t’hy’la, k’diwa, ashayam_.

Nothing seemed to make full sense anymore. Unnerved, confused, the Vulcan moved to stand a few inches from the shimmering force field; drawing a deep breath, he raised a wary gaze to what was outside, and his eyes widened as he took in the image printed on the opposite wall: it was a peculiar flower, one that appeared to be comprised of three different plants merged together. Somehow, that thought caused him to recoil, and he stepped back swiftly, profoundly repulsed by the symbol. What did it mean?

He searched his failing memory for answers, but he came up nearly empty-handed, only vague impressions clinging to his mental fingers, impressions of pain, abuse, fear. Spock swallowed unsteadily as disconnected, distantly familiar voices filled his mindscape, making him swoon -he staggered and fell on the hard mattress, too weak and famished to keep standing. He curled in on himself, wrapping both arms around his legs, and buried his face in his knees, breathing in the faint scent of his ceremonial robes, which carried another, more imposing fragrance, a fragrance that, he realised, lingered on his hair and even his skin. Inhaling deeply from his nose, the Vulcan closed his eyes, trying to give it a name.

_T’hy’la._

It was the scent of t’hy’la.

But who…?

“Still thinking about that old story?” a female voice interjected, filtering through. Spock snapped up on his feet, immediately reacting to the unwelcome touch of another, invading mind against his own.

He stared into black eyes and suddenly remembered that it was she who had taken his memories away, she who had broken him so; captive, helpless, he could only stare at her with burning hatred, ancient instinct resurfacing to make his blood boil.

“How very rude of you, you haven’t touched food. Eat.” The woman walked slowly inside his cell, hips swaying slightly, long fingers stretching in the direction of the plate.

“No,” Spock refused.

“Drink, at least.”

“I do not wish to.” Silence ensued. The Vulcan leaned trembling against the wall, and waited for her to speak for what seemed to him like an eternity; then, at last, he voiced the one question he could think of: “What more could you want?”

“Today I make you mine.”

“ _No_.”

* * *

“Ambassador Sarek. It is an honour seeing you again.” Kirk raised the ta’al at the stoic Vulcan standing in front of him, and after the greeting had been reciprocated, he nodded curtly and began to walk, clearly expecting the other to follow.

“Captain Kirk,” Sarek called, speaking low as they crossed the busy corridors of Starbase Eleven, where the Enterprise was currently docked. “Have you made any progress?”

The human shrugged sharply, blue eyes swiping the packed area quickly. He hadn’t been expecting anything other than crude directness from Spock’s father, but damn, he ought to know you don’t ask questions like that in the middle of a crowd. “I might have, Ambassador,” he muttered, turning left, then right, then diving into an open turbolift. When the doors closed behind them, he finally raised his burning gaze to meet the Ambassador’s collected one. “The bond?” he demanded.

Sarek shook his head slowly. “It is blocked. My attempts at contacting my son have been thwarted so far; I only know that he is alive, though considerably weakened.”

Jim cocked his head to the side, momentarily distracted by the hint of concern present in the Vulcan’s voice and in the hard lines of his face. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Illogical. It is not your fault.”

The turbolift chimed, effectively interrupting their hushed conversation, and the two resumed their quick pacing of the corridors. “I wish…” Kirk began before cutting himself off. “Never mind. Come on in.”

They had stopped by a door to an unmarked room, and the Captain keyed it open swiftly, gesturing for the Ambassador to enter first. When he, too, stepped inside, a warm hand came instantly to rest on his shoulder, and he instinctively smiled at the young man who now filled his entire line of vision. Dirty blond hair fell messily across his shoulders, and though he usually wore a dark veil to conceal his face he had let it loose for the time being, revealing a pair of sharp grey eyes and a shrewd grin framed by a long stubble.

“Jim. It’s good to see you again.”

Kirk clasped his hand strongly in greeting: “Sam. Thanks for the help.” He turned towards the people assembled around the one empty table that occupied most of the space in the narrow room, and quickly said: “My bridge crew, Lieutenant Uhura, Lieutenant Sulu, Ensign Chekov, my Chief Medical Officer Doctor McCoy and my Chief Engineer, Mister Scott. And this is Lieutenant D’nevla; she’s the one who escaped the criminals and brought us the prisoner…”

“…Yes, I had words with him before…”

“And Spock’s father, Ambassador Sarek.”

“It is an honour, Ambassador.” Samuel’s greeting unknowingly echoed his brother’s.

Jim swept an intense, steely gaze across the area. “This is a classified conversation. Please understand that you are forbidden to speak of this, ever. It would break at least a dozen Federation laws. Do I have your silence?”

After receiving everyone’s assent, the young Captain continued slowly: “My brother is part of the Interplanetary Secret Services, or ISS if you will -which shouldn’t be a thing but totally are- and he’s responsible for keeping all those criminal organisations Starfleet tells you that don’t exist anymore at bay. Now, regarding Spock… It’s not just _a_ criminal organisation that got its filthy hands on him. It’s _crime itself_.”

Sam nodded gravely, and took up the explanation from that point: “The symbol you found…” he nodded in the direction of D’nevla, “…is a mark that references to one person. We call her _Ezarta_ , which is a Betazoid word for _Poisonous Mind_. What we know about her: she uses mental power to control her acolytes and brainwashing to convert more people to her cause; she is much older than she lets on; for the past eight decades at least she has been pulling the strings of most, if not all, the underworld, and she’s behind many diplomatic incidents and war threats -we are still debating whether Admiral Marcus had contacts with her or if she just planned to take advantage of the situation when opportunity arose.”

He made a rather long pause, apparently to gather his thoughts, and went on: “That’s just about it. What we don’t know: how far her criminal web spreads (are Romulans involved? Are Klingons?) and how powerful her telepathy is -can we break through her control? So far we’ve been unable to.”

Sarek raised an eyebrow, pressing the pads of his fingers together in a gesture the crew found exceedingly familiar. “Does she employ it exclusively on psi-null species?” he asked, voice clear and even, “It seems to me that she is not nearly as powerful as you seem to believe. If she were truly strong she would have severed my son’s remaining bonds to render him defenceless, yet she simply muted them.”

Samuel shook his head. “I can’t tell you anything more precise than that; this is the first time she took interest in a Vulcan -and even now, I think it’s more about his unique genetic makeup than his Vulcan heritage.”

“It is not the first time my son has become a target for…”

“Of course it isn’t. There have been fifteen attempted kidnaps and three attempted murders, ten of which on Vulcan, six on Earth, two during this mission. We prevented them all. Your son is a primary target and to be fair it’s a miracle he’s made it to thirty-three in one piece.”

McCoy made a scathing sound in the back of his throat and crossed his arms stiffly. “Well, that’s just sweet and all, but I think the question here is: _how do we get his ass back on the ship?_ ”

“ _If_ we can get him back,” Samuel began flatly, only to be interrupted by Uhura’s warning snarl of “Which we must,” that indicated there was hell to pay in case of failure. The elder Kirk paused just enough for her to speak, but gave no indication of having heard the threat at all. “…It will have to be two days from now. We have been planning a raid to one of Ezarta’s most important outposts; it’s where she keeps her prisoners and new recruits, and if we’re lucky, your First Officer will be there.”

Jim nodded, standing still and strong and unwavering for the sake of his crew and perhaps even Sarek, keeping up the show of invulnerability that was every Captain’s mask and prison. “We _will_ find him there; Starfleet has already given the ISS permission to avail itself of the flagship, so this time we actually have permission to engage in a rescue mission. Officially, we’re on our own, since the Secret Services don’t exist, but their operatives are on the ready and will be present.”

With a heavy sigh, he motioned for everyone to get up. “That would be all. We’ll meet back here in two hours for tactical debriefing; since then… you’re technically on shore leave. Have fun.”

Kirk slipped out of the room without another word, avoiding McCoy’s inquisitive eye, and his brother followed him silently as he all but marched to his temporary quarters, locking the door as soon as he made it in. Then the Captain of the Enterprise sagged into a chair and covered his temples with both hands, grimacing. “Leave the lights off, please.”  
Sam glanced briefly at him and turned towards the bedside table, opening its empty drawers with quick, purposeful motions: “Migraine again? Where do you keep the meds?”

“I’m not taking them anymore,” Jim very nearly groaned, “It’ll pass eventually.”

Giving up the fruitless search, Samuel went to kneel in front of his brother, disapproval written plainly on his prematurely-aged face. “Does your CMO approve?”

A faint smile curved the Captain’s lips. “Eh. He has to. Grumbles a lot about it, but he lets me.”

“Jim…” He grasped his shoulders tightly, for a moment or two unsure as to what he wanted to say to this young man that was almost a stranger but shouldn’t be, not really, because in every gesture, in every look, in every frown and smirk he saw the skinny, lost, stubborn child he had been… “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for missing most of your life. I had to…”

“You had to leave. I understand, I do.” Jim’s eyes were earnest, expression open even though the stabbing, intermittent pain crossing his brain. “Just… help me now, will you?”

“I’ll do everything in my power to get your Vulcan back,” Sam promised. A hint of hesitation filtered through his words, and he unwillingly added: “You do know that if he’s… if she managed to break his mind, there’s nothing we can do to restore it?”

A shadow fell upon the Captain’s already grim face, and he twisted his fingers in his lap, fighting against the gnawing worry spilling in his gut -it turned his stomach and made his heart beat faster and his skin tingle and his throat constrict and he _couldn’t_ … “I know. But he’s a Vulcan and a telepath, I’m sure he will…” His voice broke, days of tension and fear and the ugliness of _not knowing_ threatening to have the best of him and engulf him completely. His brother’s hold strengthened. “He will be alright,” Samuel finished for him, “Vulcans are a pretty resourceful people, aren’t they? And they’re supposed to have all these secret abilities they won’t disclose… He’ll pull an ace out of his sleeve and he’ll survive this, too.”

Jim stared at him for a few seconds, nervous and coiled as if ready to spring; then he pulled him down into a suffocating embrace, clinging to the rough material of his impersonal shirt. “Damn you, Sam, I missed you!”

“I’m sorry, Jimmy. I’m so very sorry. I’m here now.”

* * *

“You have the power to _make_ me follow you! Why won’t you stop with… this…”

“Your mind would be blanked completely if I used my telepathy in such a manner. I need you to follow me freely -I need your wits and your brilliancy.”

“You… are torturing me. You have erased ten years’ worth of memories from my mind. You are feeding me… hallucinations and _pain_ … How can you expect me to make that choice?”

The Vulcan was gasping convulsively, shaking with the effort it took to simply speak -putting one word after the other had become a daring task, and he was lost, and confused, he did not know _why_ he kept resisting…

The woman raised an eyebrow at him, antennae waving hypnotically. “Oh, you will make it alright,” she softly assured him, “Everybody does eventually.”

“I am… Vulcan,” the half-blood muttered through gritted teeth, “I am _not_ … everybody.”

“No. You are not,” she agreed, turning her back on him with the self-assurance of an unbeaten victor. “But you _will_ yield.” A hint of cruelty entered her smooth voice as she left him alone in his cell: “You’ve nothing to fight for.”

Spock coughed violently, palms sliding convulsively against the smooth surface of the nearest wall. His vision seemed to have doubled all of a sudden, and he was feeling… strangely displaced, as if occupying two different spaces at the same time… He blinked and realised his mind was swimming wildly, nausea and vertigo battling against one another for possession of his body. Finally, the retching had the better of him, and the Vulcan threw up all over the first layer of his ruined ceremonial robes, shaking with the effort and with the knowledge that if he kept at it, he would surely die of starvation.

With trembling hands he weakly removed his soiled clothes, remaining only in his thermal shirt and pants, and dropped them in the farthest corner of the tiny room. Then he crawled back upon the small bed, curling up with his arms wrapped around his legs. He looked down at his fingers to find they were chalky white, and that in the midst of his mental agony he had apparently managed to bite or break his nails enough that he had drawn blood, which had trailed down to stain his wrists.

Eyes kept wide open out of sheer will, Spock leaned his chin into his knees and forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly. He could not afford to fall asleep, it was too dangerous, and yet it was only logical -predictable- that exhaustion would eventually prevail, he was so tired…

So tired.

* * *

Jim made his way to the high-security cell at the other end of the long, deserted corridor; the once-blinding white lights were flickering feebly, casting around an eerie glow that barely helped him see: more than once he had to grasp the wall or wave his arms in order to catch his fall as he stumbled over crumpled metal and corpses alike.

There was no force field to block his access to what should have been a heavily-guarded prisoner -instead he found a dead Andorian whose neck had clearly been broken, and a wide-eyed, thin, shaking Spock curled up in the farthest corner of the room, lips exposing pale teeth into a snarl as a low growl vibrated in his throat.

Kirk strapped his phaser to his belt and crouched down low, gazing intently into his First Officer’s transfigured face, and slowly, very slowly, so slow in fact it appeared he was still, he extended his hand. “Do you know me?” he gently asked, hiding the trepidation and mind-numbing fear he felt - _what have they done to you? Why are you like this? Am I scaring you? Why are you shaking? Do you know me? Do you remember?_

“ _Leave_.” A hoarse, rough whisper in the language of his ancestors, and the Vulcan recoiled deeper into the wall, the torn inner layer of his official attire exposing flashes of pale skin here and there.

“Are you cold?” Jim asked automatically, removing his golden shirt at once to offer it to the frightened captive; he did not move for several minutes, arm beginning to ache as he held it out far too long, but finally Spock seemed to relax infinitesimally, and reached out a trembling hand to take possession of the garment. Instead of putting it on, he hugged it to his chest, soaking up its warmth and breathing deeply.

“ _What… do you seek_?”

“Spock, I’m here to rescue you… Come on, we fought them off, it’s safe, you’re safe, I’m here to take you home…” Kirk dared take one step forward, but stopped immediately as he saw the look of alarm passing across the Vulcan’s ashen face. “It’s alright. I won’t harm you.”

Breathing heavily and fighting the exhaustion weighing over his shoulders, Spock lessened his defensive crouch and inched towards the human, tiny small motions laden with mistrust and weariness. “ _Home? To Vulcan_?” he hesitantly asked.

Jim frowned deeply. “Home. To the _Enterprise_ ,” he corrected, watching his First Officer with newfound apprehension. “Baby, do you know who I am?”

The half-blood studied him in silence for what seemed like an interminable time; his shaking had worsened and he seemed hard-pressed to stay awake; forgetting the crucial question he had just posed, the Captain surged forwards again, devouring the space between them, and, ignoring the warning hiss his beloved gave him, he grasped his shoulders to hold him steady. “Spock, have you _eaten_?”

Apparently too shocked by the contact to break free, or perhaps too tired and dazed to deny his need for support, Spock simply shook his head no; that tiny motion alone served to make him swoon, and if Jim hadn’t been there to catch him, he would have surely fallen on the floor. But he found himself enveloped in warmth – a half-forgotten embrace, something familiar and right – as the human wrapped both arms around him protectively and held him tightly, burying his nose in his messy hair. “Oh, Spock, I’m sorry it took so long, I’m sorry, I’m…”

“How do I know you are… not _hers_ … too?” The Vulcan’s icy hands were crawling up his chest, clearly uncertain whether to push him away or pull him closer. “How do I… _trust_ you?”

Kirk set his jaw and pulled back so he could look him in the eye: “Meld with me. Meld with me, and see if you can trust me.”

“Meld…?” Spock repeated softly, completely baffled because no one -no one- would ever wish to touch his mind, would they, his mind was… wrong… and even though he so clearly needed the contact, a voice in the back of his head begged him to refuse, against all logic and common sense it begged him to refuse, to protect this person who offered himself so willingly.

“Do it,” the Captain ordered.

Trembling, frantic fingers latched impossibly hard to his face, but the human did not flinch, did not even blink as the half-crazed prisoner fell into him, brown eyes gaping in fear and pupils blown wide with need.

The mental touch was not gentle: it was a tidal wave of confusion and hurt and suspicion, a thunderous cloud ravenously filling his mind, demanding they joined, melted together, seeking reassurance and protection, as if it could hide within him. It was brutal and frightening, though Jim held still and fought the urge to rebel against the intrusion, because Spock came first, he would always come first…

_‘Spock. Spock! Spock!’_

The Vulcan was helpless in the face of his own desperation -he tried, oh, if he tried to control himself, to contain his urges, to be delicate… His telepathy had broken so long before, perhaps the day T’Pring had pushed him away, and he could not hold back the fury of his instincts as they pushed him forward, forward to drown into a mind that was pure bliss.

Pure bliss.

_‘Spock…’_

Yes, it was calling his name, beckoning, so perfect, so beautiful, so right…

_‘Spock, this is too much.’_

Too much? Not enough, it was not enough, he wanted more, he had been fighting for this, starving for this, he had suffered for so long…

_‘Spock!’_

The mental voice was stronger now, commanding, and it stilled him for a moment, because the day he did not answer to that voice would be the day he died, and Spock halted his assault of the human mind, letting its essence flow into his own instead, asking for knowledge rather than for possession.

Glimpses of a past life he did not remember reached him, and he could see…

_“How much do you trust me, Spock?” The human’s tone was dark, promising danger._

_Spock considered his answer for point seventy-five seconds. “I trust you completely.”_

Trust… yes, he would do anything for this human, he would jump into the void if asked, had done so already, had placed his life in his hands and found he had made him stronger.

_“I want you to know why I couldn’t let you die. Why I went back for you.”_

Friendship… this human was his friend, his closest friend, and they had shared so much, this he knew, they had faced death together, they were warriors and explorers and he knew, he knew that in battle he would always be by _his_ side…

_The human called for him: “Hey, Spock! My toothpaste’s finished!” He was clearly talking around his toothbrush, and half a second later he peered inside the Vulcan’s quarters, peeking out his golden head from the door. “Mind if I use yours?”_

Familiar… Like a brother. Kin and companion, close, closer than anyone else, living next to him and then with him, sharing, always sharing, _what’s mine is yours_ …

_“Hey.” The human’s fingers swept over his cheekbone, caressing rhythmically, and his voice was barely above a whisper when it reached him, drawing him up and away from the unbecoming swirl of his fears. “I’m still here.”_

Gentle, sweet… A lover. A mate. A saviour…

“T’hy’la!” It was breathless and pleading, wrenched from his very soul by the overwhelming truth of the statement. “You have come, t’hy’la, t’hy’la, you are here…”

He grasped tighter at the golden human and deepened their mental contact, tendrils of his mind twisting and searching, frightened to part, frightened to leave, for he could not bear the pain of losing his lifemate again, he could not, he would sooner die than let him go, and in his crazed, confused state Spock knew not how to stop, knew not it was wrong, and he gave in to the wonder, the love, the awe…

Distantly, he heard the human whisper into his ear – he was being held so passionately, like a precious thing long lost and finally found, like the human, too, was afraid to relinquish his claim of him. “I’m here, I’m here, sweetheart, it’s alright now, you can relax, you’re safe, I’m here…”

“Please… _Please_ , do not leave…” His voice was broken, rushed.

“Hush, I won’t, I’ll stay, I’m right here, don’t you feel me…?”

“I need you-”

“You have me, please, you must sleep, baby, go to sleep…”

Spock closed his eyes and his world went black, but still he kept his hand over the human’s face, incapable of letting go, of trusting him to be there when he woke… The meld dissolved slowly, leaving them both bereft and distant and _alone_.

“Woah,” Kirk whispered, trying to regain his bearings; cradling the slumped, unmoving form of his First Officer, he picked him up far too easily (how much weight had he lost?) and ran back into the corridor. He was immediately crowded by half of his crew, but he didn’t even have the chance to grit out a quick “He’s alive,” that McCoy had driven them all back to the snarl of “Get _away_ from my patient!”

* * *

“There’s… nothing physically wrong with him, except of course he’s underfed and needs some good rest.” Leonard placed his medical tricorder on Spock’s bedside table and turned to find his Captain hovering far too close for his comfort. “He’ll be fine, Jim, he’ll be fine.”

Kirk dragged the one chair from the desk to the bed and flopped down, face drawn with concern, stress and exhaustion, restless eyes jumping from the doctor to the Vulcan and back again in an endless cycle. “I’ve seen inside his mind and -no, you have no idea, he’s not _fine_ , far from it!  Most of it I didn’t even understand, but the _pain_ -Bones, the _pain_.” He sucked in a sharp breath, reaching out to squeeze McCoy’s forearms in a strong, tension-filled grip. “It was frightening. What they did to him -it’s…”

The CMO crouched down in front of him, laid his hands on his young friend and very seriously said: “I know. I’ve examined his brain waves and it’s the worst mess I’ve ever seen. But Spock’s always had a… _peculiar_ … situation, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. He will heal -the damage is not everlasting; it might take some time, yes, that’s a given, but he will heal.”

Jim’s shoulders slumped under Leonard’s palms, and he let himself fall forward, leaning his head against his blue uniform shirt. “I’m so _tired_ ,” he whispered, a broken confession, “So, so tired. I can’t _see_ him like this. I keep thinking… I shouldn’t have let him beam down alone, I…”

“Hey. Jim. Stop this - _stop_. If you wanna point your finger, then it’s _Ezarta_ ’s fault.” A grimace passed across his face, and disgust filled his tone. “She’s to blame, and no one else. Starfleet and the Federation, maybe, for letting her roam free across the Galaxy. I’ve always said there was something fishy about it.”

A half-hearted grin curved the Captain’s lips and he pulled away, stretching a little. “How you love a good old conspiracy theory.”

“I’m just being realist over here. _Never trust the system_ and all that crap.” He glanced at the unmoving Vulcan and dipped a hand into his pocket: “He’ll wake up in six, seven hours at best. I’ll be there. And I know you will, so eat these…” He offered Jim an energy bar and an old-fashioned candy. “If you feel faint, call me. If you need to talk, call me. If Sleeping Beauty over there does anything funny, anything that doesn’t sit well with you, _call me_. Understood?”

“Yes, Mum.”

* * *

 

_The first time his mother had taken him to the sea he was four and a half. He clutched her hand firmly (for it was still permitted at that age) and stared into the endless expanse of water, feeling strangely drawn to it, as if it was calling him, inviting him in… the waves brushing the shore were powerful yet so extremely lazy, stretching like sehlats upon the wet sand, leaving imprints born to disappear in the span of a few seconds… for a moment, it had been as if he was one with them -for a moment, he understood their ancient language, for a moment his mind was freed and lay open into the ocean, for a moment alone he was whole._

_He breathed in the salty air and shivered in the face of such immensity; timidly, he reached across the bond to get a taste of Amanda’s caring feelings…_

_But she wasn’t there, was she?_

Spock came to in an unfamiliar room, lost in an unfamiliar noise which he nonetheless identified as the soft humming of a flying starship; dazedly, he got up into a sitting position, and a wave of hunger nearly had him falling backwards again -he moaned quietly, instinctively searching for help both with his mind and his eyes, _t’hy’la, where are you?_

He grasped the hand that was immediately proffered and his vision filled with the reassuring sight of his golden saviour. _Jim._

“Spock! You’re awake.” Relief was evident in the gentle voice, and the Vulcan nodded weakly, still staring at his t’hy’la and not taking any more notice of his surroundings. “No, don’t move, don’t speak, it’s alright. You need to eat first. Have a sip of water, come on, here…”

Jim’s words came in a rush as he brushed Spock’s messy, too-long bangs back to feel his forehead before he tenderly caressed his hollowed cheek, reaching out to grab the glass of water sitting on the bedside table. Slowly, he raised it to his First Officer’s lips. “Wait, not so fast -be patient. One sip at a time… Yes, perfect.”

A few moments passed before the human retracted his hand, smiling reassuringly at the silent Vulcan, who kept staring intently at him, as if trying to figure him out. “Jim,” he murmured, raising trembling fingers to his face in a mute request for contact; the Captain nodded quickly, so Spock pressed his fingertips to his psy-points, slipping home into the meld like the waves rolling back into the ocean. He conveyed both his gratitude and his confusion in a delicate touching of minds, soaking up the love and affection Kirk projected, and his eyelashes fluttered closed in simple pleasure, soft breaths puffing from his parted lips, heartbeat gradually returning to normal as he finally let his guard down.

Jim wrapped an arm around the small of his back and sat next to him on the bed to hold him steady (the Vulcan flattened himself into his side and leaned his head against his shoulder, breaking the meld because it was too hard to keep) then set a plate of vegetarian broth on his lap. “Do you feel up to it?” he asked, watching as Spock swallowed heavily and fixed his stare on the steaming bowl.

“I… believe so.” He had spent days wishing for something he could eat, and yet now, as he was presented with food, his stomach turned, and he instinctively pursed his lips when the spoon Jim had lifted brushed them.

“It’s okay,” the human whispered soothingly, “I won’t force you; I know the feeling, remember?”

The Vulcan hesitantly opened his mouth and let the pleasant taste of the soup touch his tongue, and, distracted as he was by Kirk’s clearly rhetorical question, did not even notice the way one spoon turned into many. What did it mean, _I know the feeling_? Had his t’hy’la endured a similar torture? A vague impression of hunger and tragedy slithered into his mind, but he was too tired to hold on to the feeling and he resigned himself to momentary ignorance. He would certainly have time to inquire further at a later date… would he?

The human withdrew the nearly emptied bowl with a gentle pat on his shoulder and a cheerful “We’ll finish it later!”, and offered him some water again. Spock’s skin was tingling mildly just from being near the boundless force of nature that was this wonderful, confusing creature full of smiles and empathy and affection. He settled more comfortably into his lopsided embrace, giving in to such illogical behaviour because it was the logical thing to do -the points of contact between them slowly healed the damage wrecked into his mindscape, and were a source of strength and relief. Before Kirk could speak, the Vulcan curled his fingers around his wrist, pulling until he had pressed the whole of his warm hand against the side of his own face.

“Tell me,” Jim simply said, caressing his psy-points in tender, circular motions.

“You are a Starship Captain,” Spock stated softly, extending the smallest of threads towards the other’s mind, just enough to capture the distant echo of his most pressing thoughts (thoughts of the _Enterprise_ , the _Silver Lady_ , of his crew, _family_ , but especially of him, of his sweetheart, of _thank goodness you are alive_ , of fierce love and protectiveness.) “Do you not have matters to attend to?”

“I have _you_ to attend to,” the human firmly replied, cocking his head to the side so his Vulcan could reach for him as well; the mental strand connecting them thickened, carrying hints of deeper feelings and instinctual impressions. “The mission’s over, baby, the five years are over. We’re docked at Starbase Eleven right now, but we’re heading back to San Francisco asap, stopping at Deneva on the way there.”

Spock blinked.

A flash of panic coursed from the Captain to his First Officer across the delicate link the latter was inadvertently feeding, and the Vulcan stiffened in response, even as Jim urgently asked: “Spock -do you _know_ me?”

He shifted on the bed so he could look his t’hy’la fully in those fascinating eyes of his, feebly projecting recognition and unwavering trust. “I _know_ you,” he breathed, “I know you are my friend, and my brother, and my beloved. I know you frequently best me at chess; I know you enjoy eating unhealthy food, and that you are the most excellent cook I will ever encounter; I know you like it when I sing for you. You are kind, and daring, and smart, and irreverent. You are often in trouble. I know your smile, and your scent, and your touch. I cherish you.”

Spock bowed his head then, a faint blush of green tinging his cheeks as the human, careful not to dislodge either of their hands, leaned in to press a loving kiss to his lips. “But I have no idea what you are; I remember next to nothing of the last ten years; I do not know how I came to be in Starfleet, nor you for that matter.”

Kirk frowned slightly, white teeth pressing into his lower lip. “Do you think a full meld would help?” he wondered aloud, raising his free hand to tap the other’s fingers. “Wanna do it now?”

“Once I have recovered a little more strength,” the Vulcan answered, letting out a shaking breath as he curled deeper into his t’hy’la, “I cannot sustain it at the moment. But… thank you for offering. I do not take it lightly.”

“I know you don’t,” Jim softly said. “Then listen: Bones -the Chief Medical Officer- is here, he wants to visit you. I’ll let him in immediately if it’s okay -and your father would like to see you, too.”

Spock sat up straighter on the bed and quickly collected himself, trying to vanquish from his face those traces of emotion he had been showing. “Sarek is here?”  
“He came as soon as I notified him of your disappearance. I can let him in as well -whenever you like.” Kirk’s fingers ghosted over the Vulcan’s, then he pulled away from their mental contact to walk to the door. “If you want them out -if you feel tired and not up to it, if you wanna sleep, take a shower, meditate, be alone- you only have to tell me.”

“Thank you. Jim.”

The doctor’s face was familiar (somehow not a threat), yet it was not without apprehension that the half-blood allowed him close; his t’hy’la seemed serene and obviously quite pleased to have him around, thus Spock thought it best not to show any hesitation in trusting the officer and following his requests as he examined him.

Jim grinned; Bones was behaving differently, with a gentleness he rarely displayed openly, and instead of his signature scowl, or even a frown that would indicate he was anxious about his patient’s recovery, he smiled delicately and spoke in a calm, collected tone, one he normally used around his daughter Johanna, or around children in general. It worked wonders with the wary, distressed Vulcan, who eventually relaxed into the visit. The quiet beeping of the medical tricorder soon became nothing but distant, background noise as the CMO hovered it discreetly over his wrists, his side, his forehead, and Kirk was happy to note that Spock had finally slipped out of his defensive slouch and was busy staring intently at McCoy, a hint of his burning curiosity back into his earnest eyes.

“Well, Mister Spock,” Leonard began airily, letting his tricorder fall back to where it hung from his shoulder, “You’ll be pleased to hear you’ll make a full recovery: the mental damage doesn’t seem to be permanent.”

Jim breathed a sigh of relief and reached out to briefly squeeze the Vulcan’s forearm, smiling brightly all the while; dazzled, his First Officer returned to giving the doctor the whole of his attention.

“I’d like to test your memory, if that’s alright,” Bones went on, retrieving a Padd to open a channel with sickbay: the handsome, serious face of a young woman filled the tiny screen, and Spock stared quietly as she smiled, a flash of white teeth made brighter by the contrast with the dark tone of her skin.

 _Nyota_ , the Vulcan distantly recalled.

“Lieutenant Uhura is our language expert; see if you can keep up with her.”

The Lieutenant’s bright eyes sparkled, and she greeted him politely (if affectionately) in his native tongue, but before he could do anything more than be awed at her outstanding skill, she began questioning him rapidly, jumping from Andorian to Klingon, from Klingon to Betazoid, from Betazoid to Romulan quick as lightning -initially baffled and confused, the Vulcan slipped easily back into a forgotten familiarity, and he spilled from his mouth sounds and cadences he had not known he’d learned. It was… easy.

“Len, he’s every bit as proficient as he was before,” Uhura declared after a while, seemingly more than satisfied. “I can’t find any flaws in the way he handles languages.”

“That’s… interesting,” Bones murmured, leaning against the wall as he scribbled something on a second Padd; Kirk glanced fleetingly at him, and in the gentle curve of a barely-there smile found enough reassurance that he could offer some comfort and encouragement to his confused lover. “Pavel, your turn.”

“Aye, sir!” said the nicely accented voice of a young Russian man. “ _Meester_ Spock! Is great having you back, _da_!” Clear, bright eyes sparkled in candid happiness, before the young navigator began his own examination; now Spock was ready, and wasted no time in showing off his impressive knowledge of physics, chemistry, astrophysics… He was quite enjoying himself, in fact, and was almost dismayed when Chekov clapped his hands delightedly and declared him fit for duty. “Venever, of course, _ze_ doctor decides,” the Russian added quickly, “Not now. Absolutely not.”

The next test was run by an Orion woman whom he distantly remembered (a colleague? A student? A friend? He was unsure, he knew only that he knew her); she asked him very detailed questions about years of research they had apparently gone through, and on things he had written on published papers -he gave her clean, concise answers while wondering at the achievements they had made. “He looks normal to me, doctor,” D’nevla said, “Just a little worn out.”

“Well, that’s promising,” Bones muttered, snapping his fingers with a hint of his usual briskness. “Can we move on? My patient here needs rest.”

“Moving on, Leonard, no need to fret,” came a smooth, lazy voice; the charming smirk of the ship’s helmsman filled the small surface of the Padd, and Spock felt his eyebrow raise instinctually in response to the general air of bravado surrounding the human. “I’ll be brief. Mister Spock, would you mind telling me everything you know about what’s held in the Enterprise’s greenhouses?”

The Vulcan frowned, searching his memory. “I am afraid you will have to be more specific, Mister… Sulu.” It took him a few seconds to remember the name, but he decided to view it as an accomplishment that he could.

“That won’t be necessary,” the CMO said, “I’ve got everything I need here.” He clicked his tongue twice. “Y’all say goodbye for now, and go back to your beds. I’ll be there shortly.”

McCoy smiled at the command team, and stacked the two Padds one on top of the other so he could have a free hand. “I see you melded,” he stated matter-of-factly, “That’s good. Pretty good, actually; I’ve managed to get a hold of one of your famous Healers, and she happens to agree with me: at the moment, that’s the only thing that will work for you. So keep at it.”

“Yes, Bones,” Jim said at once, “Don’t worry.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

Leonard arched an eyebrow at the Vulcan, picking up his things before leaving: “You and _you_ -back to sleep. I don’t wanna hear a pin drop in this room for at least… six hours. That clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Spock judiciously replied, “May I see my father first?”

Bones’s face softened considerably. “Of course. I’ll tell him to come in on my way out. And… welcome back.”

As soon as the doctor vanished behind the sliding doors, the Science Officer dug both palms into the soft blankets covering his bed and very slowly pushed himself up. Kirk hastened to grasp his elbow, steadying him as a dizzy spell made him swoon. “Are you positive you should be doing this?” the human questioned, barely glancing up when Sarek slid soundlessly inside.

“I wish to,” Spock whispered, and he stepped away from him, holding himself straight and still. “But please, do not leave.”

“I won’t,” Jim assured him, going to sit on the chair that had been pushed behind the bedside table; absentmindedly, he pulled open the candy Bones had given him and popped it into his mouth as he watched with curiosity tempered by wariness the Vulcan Ambassador approach his silent son (who, by now, was standing almost on attention.)

“Spock, it is gratifying to see you well,” Sarek murmured, and there was a definite hint of gentleness in his usually severe gaze -his eyes were warmer, less solemn, and trailed over the young scientist more than once before they settled upon his face.

Spock raised his hand into the ta’al and greeted his father as formally as he could, keeping his voice level and strong even though it was obvious he was on the verge of falling; the Ambassador encircled his wrists with his fingers, offering him the support he so clearly needed, and Jim smiled at him, pleased and surprised, and settled more comfortably into his chair.

“You should lay in bed,” Sarek said quietly, “You are tired.”

The young Vulcan shook his head, leaning subtly away, not allowing himself the luxury of seeking his father’s help (he should be able to stand on his own, he should be able to fend for himself, he should be able…); the Ambassador resisted his instinctive motion, trying to meet his eyes, to gain his trust. “My child, I have attempted to reach you through the bond,” he told him, speaking low and in a delicate tone, well aware that he would drive him to recoil should he be more severe, “Forgive me my failure.”

Spock’s eyes widened in surprise, and he finally raised them from where he had been staring at his father’s secure grasp on his arms; abandoning his fruitless endeavour at fleeing, he swallowed hard, shivering, and murmured, almost soundlessly: “I thank thee for trying.”

For a while they were silent, and Sarek held him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... That's it. My last finished chapter; the next is still wip, though I'm halfway through with it -there's a big important meld that I don't wanna mess up, no sir! Please be patient with me, I'm really putting my heart into this story!!  
> Hope to see you all soon, and... thank you so very much for everything! Words cannot express how happy I am to see you all read and comment what I write!! So many kudos to you!!!


	4. Meld

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was… surprisingly easy for the Vulcan to lose himself into the human's mind; he encountered no resistance, only the sweetest of welcomes, and he let the sense of Jim surround him and shape him and own him. By moulding his soul to Kirk's, he slid home: golden depths embraced him, cradling all that he was in a gentle hold that spoke of love. Spock felt… cherished. The brilliancy of Jim's thoughts was enticing and comforting and new; he shivered, because he had never dared dream such acceptance could exist. Finally, he belonged.
> 
> A flurry of memories greeted him as his t'hy'la showed him his past unashamedly, and how could he have presumed -how could he have believed he knew this glorious creature before this! How could he have guessed at the endless depths of empathy and caring and kindness he was capable of! He had only ever seen slivers of his unwavering courage, tasted shards of his selflessness, experienced fractions of his mercurial curiosity, his thirst for knowledge, his eternal fascination with space…
> 
> And now… now he saw everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Okay, I am awefully late! I won't bother you with the reasons (I had a lot of things to worry about) I'm very sorry, y'all! So, the Meld is here!
> 
> It took me far too long to write it! Still... please, enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

**_4_ **

**_Meld_ **

 

 

The blankets tangled around him, smothering him, and he fought against them, trying in vain to get rid of their weight upon him; his mind was spinning, and he had yet to close his eyes, too caught up in his nightmare to notice he was not fully awake. "Let go of me," he whispered, with barely any breath, and one flailing hand hit the cool glass of water set nearby -it fell to the floor with a crash, breaking in a million tiny pieces, and the sound was painful, infinitely so, making his mind recoil even as it filled with images and voices…

_It is not real_ , the voices said, _none of this is real, you have fooled yourself again…_

"No," Spock gasped, rolling into the bed and twisting the covers farther over his body, "No, not true…"

_You see what you wish to see, because you are lonely_. _She_ had infected him with her poison, but he could not even recall her face -there was only the faded imprint of her frozen touch on his skin, and it chilled him even though the room was stifling hot and the ship's synthetic air was clean, it was as though she had marked him, _branded_ him, and he could not flee…

"Leave me be!"

Eventually, he forced his eyes open, and the darkness surrounding him was nothing but the umpteenth enemy, for it was thick and hid unknown things, things that had belonged to him in a life he did not remember, with people he did not know… Vaguely familiar was only the faint, faded-out scent of incense still clinging to the walls and the plain furniture, but it was not enough to placate his raging mind.

He _was_ alone.

"Not true," he murmured again, shaking as he curled in on himself, pressing his forehead to his own knees and taking long, slow breaths in an attempt at bringing his bodily functions back to normal. "It is not true." The sound of the doors swishing open had him look up too fast, and his vision blurred, blinding him for a few seconds.

"Spock!" Jim rushed towards his beloved as soon as he got a glimpse of the aghast expression painted over his ashen face, and he pushed the blankets away from him before he sat by his side, pulling him close. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left you alone, but you slept for, like, forty-three hours, I had to call the Admiralty…" He kissed him swiftly, but he was so lost… "Spock?"

"Not true," the Vulcan kept muttering, breaths coming out too fast and too short, hands trembling. "It cannot be true."

"Spock, baby, you've gotta calm down or you'll be sick," Kirk crooned, caressing his hair slowly, "Look at me - _look at me_. Like this, that's it." Softly, the human pressed his lips to the tip of the Vulcan's nose, and took his face in his hands. "Now tell me, what do you need?"

"I… I need…" Spock clutched at his Captain's uniform, desperate to draw him closer. "Jim, I…" He buried his face in Jim's sweet-smelling shoulder, trying to swallow down the fright that was making his heart flutter at a worrying pace… _You have fooled yourself, child, none of this is real…_

"What? What is it, Spock? What do you need? Just name it, baby." Kirk's fingers trailed up and down his spine, tracing the shape of the fine bones, and the gentleness with which he was handling him seemed to soothe him a little.

"I need… t'hy'la." The Vulcan pulled away from his nest to stare at him, a hard, penetrating gaze intent on determining whether or not he was actually there with him. "T'hy'la… Is t'hy'la real?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't know what a t'hy'la is," Jim admitted, a little frantically, "Where can I get one? What does it look like?"

"T'hy'la… that would be you." Spock's eyes were wide and still fixed on his face, imploring; it did not look as if the human's presence would be enough to tame him…

"Then you have me, Spock, I'm here. Come on." He searched for both of his companion's hands and pressed their palms together, forcefully, bringing the Vulcan's fingers to his mouth so he could kiss them. "Don't you feel me? Feel me."

Dark lashes fanned closed as the telepath focused on their points of contact to centre himself; slowly, very slowly, his breathing returned to normal, and a green shadow filled his previously white cheeks. "I apologise," Spock murmured sheepishly, "I require meditation."

"You don't need to apologise. Not for this." He got up from the bed with a skipping motion, pulling the half-blood with him, then brushed his lips gently on the side of his chin. "Now, sweetheart, why don't you go take a shower while I make you breakfast?"

"You need not trouble yourself," the Vulcan hastened to say, even as he let Jim slip open his sleeping robe, "The replicators are… more than adequate."

"Nah, it's cool," chirped the human, pushing him into the bathroom with a cheerful smile that made him blush, "No trouble at all!"

Spock peeked his head from the door and gave him a very serious look. "Allow me to rephrase: the replicators are here. The kitchen… is not."

"Oh." Kirk blinked at him for a few moments before another smile graced his face. "Well, in that case, I'll stay here."

When the Vulcan emerged from the bathroom, Jim was waiting for him with a warm, fuzzy towel held high in his hands. "Come here, beautiful. Let me spoil you a little." 

* * *

Jim stretched lazily, leaning his head on Spock's thighs and looking up at him as he pressed the tips of his fingertips together. "You sure this is alright?" he asked.

"It is, Jim," the Vulcan assured him, bringing his hands up so the pads of his digits brushed his lower lip.

"And I'm not distracting you?" The human demanded again, as his padd beeped once, the flashing blue light signalling the arrival of a new message.

"If you cease speaking then no, Jim, you are not." Spock bent over to lightly kiss his Captain's forehead and eyelids, then straightened his back and took a deep, slow breath, focusing inwards to begin his meditation.

Delving into his mindscape was like plunging himself headfast into a raging ocean -his thoughts and faded, hidden memories seemed to shape themselves as high, roaring waves, and swept him this way and that even as he tried his best to steady them, to still the rampant, rebellious waters…

He could not heal the mental damage by himself, that much was clear; even the simplest levels of meditation proved difficult to achieve, and he fought against himself to balance his recalcitrant emotions, Vulcan and human alike, as they worked together to unsettle him, to have him descend once more into a state of frenzied fear -fear of his mind, fear of reality, fear of those black, knowing eyes that alone could devour all that he was and had ever been.

_Cast out fear_.

He deliberately slowed his breathing even more, calling upon the ancient philosophies he'd learned as a child to help him find a way into the labyrinth of his consciousness. _Rata. (Concept_ ). He had no concept to grasp for, nothing to ground him, nothing but the incomprehensible jumble of the resentment and hatred he'd harboured against his wishes, against his better judgement, against his logic, during all those years of loneliness and suspicion and sadness. There _had_ been a time when all he'd known was hatred, hatred, hatred, at the children who shunned him, at his brother who'd gotten himself banished, at his father who wanted him different, at his mother who did nothing to stop the pain…

_Tafar. (Mental discipline)_. He had no discipline -his insubordinate mind would not be tamed, rejected directions and guidelines and reason, until all that remained was confusion and error, the war between his two natures silenced because it made no sense anymore, it made no sense when he had been conquered by a force that was infinitely more powerful than he ever would be…

_Tapan. (Cerebral process)_. He needed to bring some order into his brain -he could not keep being such a hindrance upon his t'hy'la, could not keep demanding he take care of him so completely… He was an officer on a Starship (somehow -who in their right mind would ever want _him_?) and he must attend to his duties (if only he could remember what duties they were), must do something other than wallow in his pain and despair… must find a way to piece his mind back together.

Gritting his teeth, Spock concentrated on tearing the image of the raging ocean apart, on vanquishing it so he could take control… But for all the effort it took him to see his mindscape differently, to shape it anew… he found it turned into a thousand threads of thin, garbled web, more difficult to sort through than before. He reached out his mental hands and the gossamers were cold to the touch, freezing cold, as _she_ had been: they were _hers_.

He could not flee from his own mind, could he?

Spock came out of his meditation gasping and shaking, Jim's hands pressed on his face and his mouth inches from his own, breathing close to him, calling him… "Oh, t'hy'la," the Vulcan whispered, "I thank thee."

Kirk frowned at him, getting up and away from the meditation mat so he could replicate some hot tea for his friend, and he glanced at the lit candles, at the burning incense, then back into Spock's troubled eyes. "I take it did not work?" he murmured, offering him the tea before he moved to sit by his side.

"It did not. The damage is… more extensive than I expected." The Vulcan sighed a little and, in an uncharacteristically hastened motion, he drained the cup in one long gulp, setting it on the floor when he was finished. "I admit to some uncertainty as to what I should do next."

"Meld with me," Jim said at once, crossing his arms and raising both eyebrows as if to dare him.

"No! No, that I simply… cannot do." Spock's gaze was haunted, and his upper teeth came down in a flash to bite his lip. "I might hurt you again. It is too dangerous."

"But you need it, don't you?" The human insisted, leaning forward, palms digging into the Vulcan's thighs as he again brought their faces far too close. "I _felt_ it. You're desperate for it."

"I am not agreeable to jeopardising your health because of my needs," Spock objected firmly, setting his jaw and inching away from him so as not to be distracted.

"And I'm not letting you throw away _your_ health only because you might - _just might_ \- hurt me a little." Jim's eyes were steely and reflected the flickering light of the candles above him; a warm smile filled his face as he gently kissed his lips. "Now I can see you're tired and need to rest. Do so, read something, sleep a little more -maybe in my room if you're sick of this place- but we're having this conversation again. Think about it, uh? You really have no choice."

_Jim…_

* * *

"Jim-an!" Saavik ran to him as soon as he was out the door, and he stopped to greet her, smiling down at her serious little face, at her burning eyes. "Is Spock-an coming too?" she asked, peering behind him as if expecting the Vulcan to join them.

The Captain shook his head, keeping his expression light and open. "Not right now, no. He still needs to heal, but he'll be out and flying soon."

"He will?" she insisted, voice small but firm, green-tinged lips pursed in the tiniest of pouts. "You promise, Jim-an?"

Swallowing somewhat unsteadily, the human let his expression soften considerably, eyes crinkling when he smiled at the child with unbridled affection. "Yes, Saavik. He'll be right as rain and healthy as a horse, don't you worry." _As soon as I can get him to meld with me_ , he silently added, wondering if perhaps he should ask Sarek for advice. Glancing covertly at the statuesque Ambassador who was monitoring them some ten feet behind, he quickly aborted the idea, thinking that his father's intervention would probably bring Spock even more distress than what he was already enduring. _We have to solve this on our own._

"I'm gonna go grab some lunch," he informed his young friend, "Wanna come?"

Saavik arched both eyebrows at him and her chin raised in veiled contempt: "Vulcans do not require as much sustenance as humans do," she dutifully recited.

"Of course they don't," Jim muttered, chocking down the laughter bubbling at the back of his throat. "Then I'll see you around, okay?"

"I believe so." She seemed to hesitate, as if unsure whether to say something or not, and Kirk waited patiently for her to decide. Finally, she told him: "I have been informed humans place great value in good wishing." She scrunched her face, obviously trying to wrap her mind around the foreign concept, then she straightened her back and continued: "Spock-an is half-human, and he lives among humans. Will you tell him I wish him well?"

For a moment, Jim could do nothing but stare stupidly at her, wondering if all Vulcans were this amazing or if it was he who attracted the best ones. "I… I'll be sure to pass that on, yes," he said, as soon as he found his voice, and he beamed down at her, watching as she bowed slightly and whirled around so she could join Sarek. They walked away side by side, and Kirk headed to the mess feeling a lot better than he had for days.

As he replicated himself some lunch, he searched the room for McCoy, and found him sitting at a table, talking heatedly with Sam; the two seemed to get along well enough, even though there was an undercurrent of mistrust on the doctor's part, surely due to how protective he was of his Captain. If he strained his ears, he could catch bits and pieces of their conversation: they were discussing Ezarta, her escape and her future plans.

"Bones!" he clapped his friend on the shoulder as a greeting, and flopped down on the empty chair left between him and his brother, ignoring the murderous glance Leonard sent him.

"Where's your salad?" he demanded angrily.

Jim's shit-eating grin fell into place then. "Technically, this _is_ a salad. A chicken, tomatoes and mayonnaise salad."

"Now listen here, you…"

But they never got to hear what precisely Kirk was, for Sam interrupted the doctor with a loud, crackling laughter, throwing his head back so his long hair fell behind his shoulders: "I can see your eating habits haven't changed in the slightest," he quipped.

"You see well, brother," Jim said, stretching lazily before popping a spoonful of chicken into his mouth.

Bones muttered mutinously under his breath but chose to drop the subject.

"So, Sam… are you coming to Earth with us or are you staying on Deneva?" the Captain asked, stealing a breadstick from McCoy's plate and twirling it with both hands absentmindedly. "Don't _play_ with food, you absolute child," came the doctor's immediate grouse.

The eldest Kirk shrugged a little, eyes filling with an apology he would probably never voice. "I'm to stay on Deneva until further notice," he answered, tracing the shape of his transparent plate with a fingertip. "But I was told the Enterprise will stay on orbit for three days or so," he added at once, maybe in response to McCoy's warning glare, "And I want you to meet someone."

"Someone, uh?" Jim's gaze, which had darkened upon hearing his brother's reply, brightened up suddenly. "Someone important?"

"Yeah," Sam murmured, "She's a colleague of mine. Her name's Aurelan."

" _Just_ a colleague?" the Captain teased, elbowing Bones in the ribs; they exchanged a knowing glance.

"And a friend; for now. I'm… pretty serious about her."

Jim laughed merrily, then got up so he could fetch some lunch for Spock, not trusting the Vulcan to remember he required nutrition; before he could leave the mess, though, he was ambushed by Mister Scott, who seized his arm to drag him back to a table. "Uhm, guys," he cautiously said, "I need to get Spock his lunch…"

"Aye, sir, that you do," Scotty agreed seriously, "And that canna'e be enough! The lad's been starving for days!" He crossed his arms stiffly. "Soup is good for the soul, but you should add a sandwich or two. For substance, ya kno'." And he pushed two vegetarian sandwiches on the tray.

"Uh, thanks…"

"And potatoes, too!" put in Chekov, nodding furiously at him, "Potatoes are strong and sturdy. Meester Spock could use some!"

"Here's some strawberries," Uhura murmured, picking several from her own plate so she could set them carefully onto the Vulcan's. "They're his favourite terran fruit. And full of vitamins, too."

Lieutenant D'nevla scoffed at that, and presented a cute cup containing an unknown dessert. "He needs more than just vitamins, he needs a treat. Vulcan equivalent of ice-cream," she explained, "Bland as hell, but they like it."

"Anything else?" Jim ironically asked, looking down at the assortment of food that was now enough to feed an army of recalcitrant, I-only-require-sustenance-once-every-other-week Vulcans. "Sulu?"

The helmsman grinned, placing a cold salad next to the soup. "These are all fresh, from the greenhouse," he proudly declared, "He'll love them."

"Thanks, guys," the Captain murmured, getting up a little unsteadily, "I'm sure he will."

He walked away from the mess with a heavy, dangerously unstable tray and the biggest, silliest smile plastered all over his face.

* * *

"I believe I am now ready to meld," Spock declared, shutting off his computer (he had been binge-watching security videos and logs from their previous missions) and turning in his chair so he could face Jim.

The Captain set aside the Padd he'd been using to sign the last reports, and got up fluidly, joining the Vulcan by the table. "Alright, let's."

Spock took his hand without the slightest hint of hesitation and walked him to the sleeping alcove, encouraging him to sit on the bed. "Are you prepared?" he inquired, cupping his t'hy'la's face with both palms, a gentle, infinitely caring hold. "A full meld goes deep into the mind -everything you are, everything you have always been will be on display for me to see it. Are you comfortable with this level of intimacy?"

Kirk smiled softly, placed a fleeting kiss upon his lips. "I am. Are you?"

The half-blood lowered his eyes shyly, then, the barest hint of green gracing his high cheekbones. "I desire nothing more."

"Then do it, sweetheart."

With a steading sigh and the ghost of a smile, Spock nodded, and his fingers slid effortlessly into position, caressing the human's psi-points with reverence for but a moment before he slowly recited the ritual phrase. " _Kashkau wuhkuh eh terethur_." _Our minds, one and together_.

At first it wasn't different from their previous melds: their consciousness met halfway, rejoicing in the delicate contact they shared, simple yet charged with hidden meanings they had yet to explore. Elation was present, along with an unexpected sense of relief, as if they'd both been holding their breaths for too long and only now let the clean air in again. The feelings doubled, bouncing back from one mind to the other, but the touch was fluttering and tentative, and soon they found themselves craving for more, more of that electrifying taste they had caught only fleetingly before, more of the elusive knowledge of _oneness_ that defined all they were for one another.

_Jim?_ Spock questioned then, barely containing his urgency -it was impossible to hide the need when everything was laid bare for his t'hy'la to see…

_Please._

It was… surprisingly easy for the Vulcan to lose himself into the human's mind; he encountered no resistance, only the sweetest of welcomes, and he let the sense of _Jim_ surround him and shape him and own him. By moulding his soul to Kirk's, he slid home: golden depths embraced him, cradling all that he was in a gentle hold that spoke of love. Spock felt… cherished. The brilliancy of Jim's thoughts was enticing and comforting and new; he shivered, because he had never dared dream such acceptance could exist. Finally, he _belonged_.

A flurry of memories greeted him as his t'hy'la showed him his past unashamedly, and how could he have presumed -how could he have believed he knew this glorious creature before this! How could he have guessed at the endless depths of empathy and caring and kindness he was capable of! He had only ever seen slivers of his unwavering courage, tasted shards of his selflessness, experienced fractions of his mercurial curiosity, his thirst for knowledge, his eternal fascination with space…

And now… now he saw _everything_.

Through the human's eyes, he saw Winona Kirk, her blank yet incredibly suffering gaze, the ghost-like quality of her empty smiles; he watched as she walked across the family house, carrying essential luggage, her smooth strides cluttered by the two children trying to grasp her legs…

He saw a scrawny, lanky boy running across a field of golden crops: his laughter was bright and strong, and matched Jim's slightly breathless one. When Sam finally stopped and turned around with his arms opened wide, the youngest giggled excitedly and jumped onto him. "Gotcha!" They rolled around the growing wheat, playfully wrestling, and the chilling air was full of mirth and the rich scent of fresh dirt…

Then the air went dry and suffocating, made heavier by the foul smell of death and the sounds of phasers firing. A raging scream could be barely heard over the noise of boots crushing the arid ground, a broken, crazed chant: "…I'll see your blood on the earth how dare you take my friends fight me fight me fight me cowards using phasers against kids fight me fight me…" Spock wept with Jim for his lost companions, and was forced to quell the murderous fury rising within him, because how dare they mistreat his t'hy'la as such…

Kirk dragged him away from his darkest memory, and showed him his first days at the Academy, the grudging admiration, the tentative hope that _maybe this future could be good_ , and the beginning of his friendship with Bones (" _I may throw up on you_ "), and Christopher Pike looking at him with a mixture of pride and exasperation, and the Kobayashi Maru ( _I do not believe in no-win scenarios, no-win scenarios don't exist, it's simply a matter of how much you're willing to sacrifice, of price and prize…_ )

And there was Delta Vega, and a lined hand was pressed to his psi-points, and everything was different… "So you _do_ feel." But it was an understatement, a gross understatement, because the universe of sorrow that had washed over him from the Vulcan's mind was not just a _feeling_ , and the agony, the guilt, the heartbreak, the love… all that disarming sincerity was powerful enough to make his whole being crumble -he wanted to forget, to banish the memory of the meld forever, and yet at the same time he knew that it had already changed him to the point of no return, and he was helpless in the face of the Ambassador's pain ( _Spock_ 's pain, this was Spock!), helpless because somehow it had hurt him too…

Then Spock saw himself -vigilant, watchful, silent- standing still, a steadying presence in the chaos of the unknown, the only constant Jim allowed himself to believe in; he saw his own eyes, a thousand different stares merging together, an impression rather than an actual recollection, suffused with the pride brought by the knowledge that it was Kirk -just Kirk- who could understand the wonders hidden behind the Vulcan's unruffled mask.

He saw the day they met ( _"Who's that pointy-eared bastard?"_ ) and the thousands that followed, Jim's stubborn insistence that he must be his ( _"Yes, sir, I would accept no other, I want Spock for my First Officer, I don't care if I have to fight the Admirals for him, I'll get him"_ ), the Nibiru mission ( _I won't let him die_ ), his hurt at the Vulcan's refusal to acknowledge their friendship ( _Does he even care?_ ), the days after he had been revived when they had become close… Countless scenes bloomed into his mind like wild flowers, bringing with them sounds and colours and tastes that were not his own and yet belonged to him entirely.

And Spock felt with Jim; he _was_ Jim.

_'_ _I love you, so, so much_.'

Of course: it was obvious, in a sense, and perhaps the Vulcan had always known, from the very first time they had fought side by side, that Kirk's strong, rebellious, _nurturing_ essence was the reason so many ancient songs and ballads had been written, the reason why warriors died and _lived_ for each other. _'I am so grateful for you, t'hy'la.'_

_'_ _T'hy'la… tell me what it means.'_

_'_ _It means…'_ He poured a flood of images and emotions towards him, because simple words could not suffice, simple words could never entirely capture the true significance of _t'hy'la_ , the sense of _friend-brother-lover-confidant-soulmate-companion-haven-refuge-home_ , it was so much more. _'Us.'_

A pause ensued while Jim seemed to absorb the weight and not-so-hidden meaning of all he had been shown, then a soft, gentle request: _'Show me your mind, please?'_

Spock hesitated before answering, remembering how conflicted he had been, how utterly terrified and lost at the prospect of letting anyone in. Yet it was… inevitable, in a sense, and he wondered why he had resisted so much, when he had clearly spent all his life reaching for this moment, searching for this kind of communion, wishing it could be _his_ , too…

_'_ _Are you afraid?'_ Jim asked, trying a little awkwardly to consciously project feelings of affection, respect and acceptance.

_'_ _I am not anymore.'_

The human's presence into his mind was more than welcome: it was needed. Though he was psy-null, he was quick to learn how to navigate the meld, and Spock let him explore at leisure, baring his soul for him to touch.

Up until that point, Jim had allowed the Vulcan to weave the threads between them alone and to shape the landscapes they saw, for fear of doing him damage or offense, but he could not resist anymore -Spock's consciousness was like a drug, and he chased thoughts and opinions as if he could take them for himself. He wanted to carry a piece of that magnificent mind within his own and keep it safe and warm and near, because he felt how starved it was, how pained.

Yes, there was too much pain, and by God, Jim swore he would heal it all… Alien emotions painted colours he shouldn't be able to see, and he shivered, ripples of awe and love and wonder pooling into their joined minds. _'It's so beautiful here. This is how you see the world?'_

_'_ _It is.'_ Spock's relief was heart-breaking: Jim knew without needing to ask that he had been expecting disgust and rejection… Did he not realise how brilliant he was?

_'_ _I… don't know what to say,'_ Kirk admitted. Unconsciously, he deepened the meld farther still, as if searching for the right words inside the other's soul; it was then that he stumbled upon a curious vision, an image he did not fully understand. The Vulcan made to shield him from it, but Jim resisted him, curious and nearly desperate to banish that ugly undercurrent of self-doubt from his beloved's mind.

It was the way Spock viewed his own conflicting natures: a stunningly unique picture, a sandstorm battling a raging ocean, burning reds meeting colder greens and blues in flashes of white, like lightning. Mutinous, the water lapped over crimson dunes, attempting to swallow them, hide them, but the desert would not give, could not give, it was vital it stayed dry and _in control_ …

Jim reached out a mental tendril, wanting to know, to understand, to capture the sense of infinite sadness that he'd only ever glimpsed into the half-blood's earnest eyes, but when he touched it, the image changed, melting into a comforting darkness that tasted like home; millions of stars lit up the night sky, and there was finally _peace_.

_'_ _Your mind is gorgeous, t'hy'la.'_

Spock cradled him closer, and for a while they floated into the meld, sharing, giving and receiving equally, utterly content and at ease.

_'_ _Nemaiyo, Jim.'_

* * *

"Starfleet agrees with you," Sarek murmured, setting his cup of tea on the low table and looking up to meet his son's quietly surprised gaze.

Sitting on his heels in front of his father, Spock straightened his back and took a deep breath, tasting the pungent flavour of incense on his tongue. "As I recall, you have strongly opposed my decision to enlist," he objected, watching as trembling snakes of smoke curled out of his cup and vanished into the synthetized air of his quarters.

"That is correct," the Ambassador replied, touching his fingertips together.

The First Officer arched an eyebrow at him, then silently sipped his tea, taking some time to think. "Why did you?" he finally asked, keeping his tone of voice impassive, polite, "Why were you so against my choice?"

Sarek waited long before answering; the embers had almost died in the nearby shrine, and the room was shrouded in darkness, the shaky vestiges of the fire painting dancing shadows on the walls. "I confess I was not entirely comfortable with the thought of allowing you to wilfully put yourself in danger. Among other reasons."

"Indeed?" Spock's eyes widened, shock playing about his features for the two point eleven seconds it took him to rein it back in; he certainly hadn't been expecting such a simple, _emotional_ motivation behind his father's aversion. "I must admit I had not considered such a possibility."

"That is quite understandable." The Ambassador nodded slowly, seemingly to himself, and shifted into a kneeling position so he could refill both their empty cups. "When you have a child it is difficult to learn to… let go."

Spock swallowed hard, looking down at his folded hands resting in his lap. "But mother…" He frowned, unsure how to best put his thoughts into words: he recalled his mother's frightened expression at the prospect of his enlistment, the tight, desperate hug she had given him before he left.

"Amanda worried for you," Sarek explained, apparently not needing him to voice his concerns. "Though she was, I believe, _delighted_ to see you live in a more human environment."

Of course; as much as she supported his desire to be fully Vulcan, his mother could never comprehend it, and it was likely she was pained by his continuous rejection of her heritage, even if she always denied it. Spock bowed his head, ears warm with the uncomfortable guilt rising within his chest, and he knew not how to reply. He had failed her, so utterly and completely, refused her times and times again, scorned the sweet kindness of her warm human love, drawn lines between them when all he should have done was keep close to her.

Sarek stood fluidly, and walked around the small table to stand beside the younger Vulcan, who tilted his head back to stare up at him with wide, earnest eyes -the same searching, intense gaze he had as a child. "I can see now that we have wronged you in your youth, my son," the Ambassador told him quietly, pressing the very tips of his fingers against Spock's black-clad shoulder. "We demanded you choose between two halves that were -and are- equally your own."

A long pause ensued. "Forgive me my blindness."

He left.

* * *

"Jim. You are tired and in pain. Please, rest."

The Captain was sitting at his desk, nearly submerged by a pile of blinking Padds, one hand clenched around the stylus and the other pressed against his forehead. Spock came to stand behind him and reached out so he could loosen his grasp on the pen-like device, then twined their fingers together, trying to capture his attention.

"You have been neglecting yourself," he added, when Kirk did not even lift his eyes from the report he was reading. "You have a migraine."

"I always have a migraine," Jim mumbled, attempting without much success to free himself from the Vulcan. "Spock, c'mon, I have work to do."

"You do not," his First Officer countered. "It is nothing you cannot delegate to me."

Frowning, the human turned to face him; he seemed affronted. "Spock, no, you're recovering, I would never…"

Spock's eyes flashed. "I am completely recovered. Doctor McCoy has stated so as well, and has cleared me for duty starting tomorrow."

"Yeah, that's right, tomorrow, so you must…"

The Commander went on as if he hadn't heard him: "You, on the other hand, have overworked yourself to the point of exhaustion. It is imperative you rest." Softening his tone a bit, the Vulcan slipped closer to lightly comb his fingers through the unruly mess of blond hair. "Please, Jim. You have done enough. Allow me to relieve you of responsibility for a while."

Kirk shook his head, biting his lower lip to contain the pained groan that was threatening to escape; his digits dug into his temple with too much force, and he flinched. Spock eased them away. "You don't have to, you're still…"

The Vulcan's eyes narrowed dangerously. "That is incorrect. I have to, and I wish to. You are my t'hy'la: it is my duty and privilege to tend to you, and you must let me." They glared at each other in a battle of wills, one the half-blood had no intention of losing. "Come, k'diwa."

Eventually, Jim yielded, and let himself fall sideways, resting his full weight against his companion; Spock held him for a few minutes, then kneeled in front of him, keeping one hand on his shoulder for support while the other travelled upwards, cupping his face in the position of a meld. Focusing on the numbing pain emanating from his t'hy'la, the telepath reached into his mind to silence it, leaving only blissful drowsiness behind.

Kirk went boneless in his arms, and with the utmost care the Vulcan picked him up and carried him to the bed, laid him down, removed his golden shirt to fold it on a nearby chair.

Silently, he returned to the desk to retrieve the Padds, and brought those, too, to the bed. Jim was already asleep. Smiling a little, Spock brushed his index and middle finger over his parted lips; he made himself comfortable into the pillows and set to work, delighting in the warmth and security that were now rolling off his human in waves.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So that's it! I am late and tired and kinda drained... Hope you liked this chapter! And thank you so very much for following me up here!


	5. Violation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock woke with a start, gasping in the darkness of his room as images from a nightmare not his poured into his mind, invading it completely. Instinctually, he recoiled from the bed, landing softly on the floor on all fours, so he could escape the contact that was sure to be blamed for the unasked-for insight into his t’hy’la’s dreaming consciousness.
> 
> But it did not stop.
> 
> The Vulcan crouched there for long minutes, observing the human as he slept, his naked skin glowing from a faint sheen of sweat, his face twisted in a hard grimace, his pointless thrashing about in response to – Run, run, just a little more, a little more, I gotta…
> 
> How? How was it possible?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... here I am! Still alive. I got stuck on this chapter way too long, because this is sort of a bridge to the second part of 'Of the Mind'... It's also shorter than usual, but there's some crew fluff, little Saavik and plus Jim and Uhura being extra cool!
> 
> So... I apologise for my tardiness?

**_5_ **

**_Violation_ **

****

****

When Spock walked out of his quarters, it was with a carefully-controlled feeling of elation, perhaps even giddiness -the last few weeks had been quite tiring on him, and he wished nothing more than to return to his duties. His hair was combed to perfection, his uniform was spotless and his padd was open on at least ten different pages… all was ready for work. Satisfied, he stopped to key in the code that would lock his door, mind running ahead of him to his waiting experiments in the laboratories.

“Spock!”

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow at the frantic tone of voice, and he turned: “Hello, Nyota. I am pleased…” he began, but then she threw her arms around his neck in a tight embrace, and his mouth fell shut.

“I’m so glad you’re alright!” Uhura said, slightly trembling as she stood on tiptoes to reach him. Belatedly, Spock remembered that maybe he should support her, and he placed his free hand on her waist.

“Thank you, Nyota,” he murmured, a little thrown by such enthusiasm. She had never been one to disregard his need for personal space -though in this instance, he could not find it in himself to mind. “I am well,” he added, to reassure her.

She stepped back, releasing him, and a sheepish grin curved her lips. “Sorry, I just… I was so worried.”

“We all were.”

Blinking, Spock wondered how he had failed to notice the welcome committee waiting for him by the end of the corridor, and he clasped his hands behind his back, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. Nyota pushed him forward, so that he was surrounded by the smiling faces of his friends and colleagues. D’nevla squeezed herself between Sulu and Chekov, and stood close to him, leaning in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek before she withdrew, chuckling at his astonished expression. “You gave us quite the fright back there.”

“My apologies,” the Vulcan muttered, swallowing down his confusion so it (hopefully) did not show.

“Nonsense!” Hikaru protested, waving him off. “Look, I brought you someone,” he enthusiastically said, shoving a wide, brightly coloured pot against his chest. Spock caught it automatically and looked down to see the spiked form of the shrub they had collected months before on Ceti Alpha V. “She missed you!” the helmsman cheerfully explained.

“That… is unlikely.” The science officer frowned, but he was pleased to note that the plant seemed to be flourishing, healthier than ever.

“Well, I wouldn’t know about that. She’s purring.”

Spock cleared his throat, mildly uncomfortable with all the attention. “We should be on the bridge.”

“ _V_ e still have ten _meenutes_ , sir!” Chekov told him, bouncing a bit on the toes of his feet as he beamed at him with sparkling eyes. “So _v_ e have brought you breakfast!”

“I do not require sustenance at this time,” the Vulcan objected. Nonetheless, he slid the padd between his arm and his side, and took the proffered apple.

“With all due respect, sir,” Scotty interjected, glaring at him in a protective sort of way, “You look mighty thin. Like you should nae’ be allowed around yet.”

A hard slap landed on the back of the human’s neck, and McCoy popped out of thin air to growl at him. “Back off, Engineer!” he snarled, brandishing his tricorder, “Are you doubting me?”

Everyone cowered, and Spock clutched defensively at the potted plant, remembering the doctor’s dislike of it. Scotty stood his ground, offering Leonard a wry smile. “Ya know what I mean, Len.”

Bones huffed, then rounded on the half-Vulcan, who was doing his best to inconspicuously walk backwards in a vain attempt at reaching the turbolift. “Stop right there. Lemme check your vitals.”

“Doctor. You have cleared me for duty _yesterday_.”

“Oh, just shut up. Eat your apple.”

Sulu relieved him of the plant with a smile.

The chirping sound of the turbolift doors sliding open interrupted Spock’s rather vitriolic remark, and the Captain strode in, followed a few steps behind by Sarek and Saavik. “Jim,” the Commander greeted gratefully, letting the apple fall into the human’s outstretched hands.

Kirk took a huge bite out of the fruit, looking quite pleased with himself, and it suddenly dawned on the Vulcan that it had probably been his t’hy’la who had organised this impromptu alpha shift meeting. A warm, fond, fuzzy feeling was spreading in the back of his mind, and a crease appeared between his eyebrows as he contemplated it, because it was unexpected and strangely foreign, as if it did not belong entirely to him.

Perhaps there _was_ some merit to the doctor’s indecision -perhaps he was not entirely recovered.

Saavik walked up to him, and Spock picked her up with one arm, the faintest hint of a smile on his face, holding her close. “Hello, _ko-kan_.”

“Greetings, Spock-an,” she replied in her serious little voice. Everyone held their breath, watching her with matching expressions of pride and adoration. “Jim-an said you are _right as rain_. Is that correct?” She looked very puzzled by the _rain_ part of the simile, and her eyes were wide as she fixed them on the scientist’s face.

Spock nodded curtly. “It is correct, Saavik. The danger has passed.”

Relief gentled her features, then the child leaned in to whisper in his ear: “ _I, too, have been made to see what was not real_ ,” she told him in their native language, “ _The nightmare fades after a while_.”

“Y’all look so cute,” Jim pointed out in a gleeful sort of way; the fuzzy feeling returned, and the Commander tried to contain it, confusion making the slow slide into worry. “Spock, gimme your padd. I wanna take a picture. Everybody pose!”

“Mister Kirk,” Sarek called, gliding towards the Captain with his usual stony demeanour. “I will take the picture, if you wish to join your shipmates,” he offered, appropriating the padd without waiting for an answer. Kirk thanked him merrily, and jumped in between Spock and Bones, wrapping an arm around each of them.

“On the count of three, say _‘Enterprise’_!” Scotty instructed. “One, two, three…”

They all smiled. Except for the Vulcans, of course.

* * *

 

“Isn’t this mind-blowing?” Jim said, spreading out his arms as far as they would go as he spun around to get a better look at his surroundings. Sam let himself fall down on the unruly grass and watched him with an air of amusement that nonetheless held the ever-present edge of bitter regret.

“Yes, it’s striking,” he agreed, “I didn’t think holo-tech would progress this much.”

The Starship Captain smiled -he smiled at the tall spikes of wheat reaching proudly towards the artificial sun, smiled at the fluffy, cotton-like clouds sailing across a perfectly blue sky, smiled at the brightly coloured flowers lighting a rainbow across the earth. “Well, it’s just been finished. Scotty and his team have been working on it for ages.”

“A job well done.” Sam wrapped both arms around his legs, throwing his head back with a slight frown on his lined face. “Maybe too well done.”

Jim sat down next to him, sighing a little in response to his brother’s dark mood. “What is it?” he asked, resentfulness seeping into his voice despite his best efforts at concealing it.

“Nothing, really. It’s just… this looks far too much like Iowa for my taste.”

“I guess it does, yeah.” Kirk huffed, and a shadow slid upon his eyes. “We should come back, every once in a while, you know.”

Samuel’s grimace grew more pronounced as he turned to hide it from his younger brother. “What for?” he quipped, “All the happy memories?”

A moment passed in which there was silence, save for the distant sound of chirping birds. Jim chose not to answer to the provocation, and placed a hand on the other’s shoulder, squeezing softly to claim his attention. “I spoke to Mum.”

“Good for you,” Sam flatly replied, stare as blank as his tone.

Kirk made himself go on. It was best they got this over with soon, all things considered. “She says she misses you. Us.”

“Oh, she does, doesn’t she?” A hint of rage was beginning to tint Sam’s voice; he snapped his head towards the Captain, and a hiss escaped his lips: “That’s not my problem.”

“She’s very sorry for everything,” Jim added, clearly as an afterthought. It had been a long and uncomfortable call, the one following his thirtieth birthday, and he remembered every moment of it, every stilted word, every pause in Winona’s speech as she did what she could to try and tie together bonds that had been broken for decades. “She wants to… make peace.”

“Yeah? And I suppose you’ve forgiven her, haven’t you?” Samuel crossed his arms and his expression went hard as stone. “You’ve forgiven her the way she treated you all your life? Like a ghost? You’ve forgiven her _Frank_? You’ve forgiven her _Tarsus_?”

A very strange kind of tension filled the air, as the phantoms of Kodos and the famine seemed to hover between them. Jim swallowed hard. “Tarsus wasn’t her fault.”

“She shouldn’t have dumped you there.” He left no room for objections, jaw tight and fingers digging into the rough fabric of his sleeves. “She hasn’t been present for nearly all our lives. What gives her the right to want to have us in hers now?”

The younger man took a deep breath and grasped the other’s shoulders, looking him square in the eyes, and said, very carefully, enunciating each word: “I have _not_ forgiven her. I just think that what’s done is done, and there’s no point in holding a grudge, because it wouldn’t change anything. She’s our mother…”

“That means nothing. It doesn’t give her special permission to treat you like shit.”

“I know. I know that. But you see… I’m beginning to understand her a little. She is a Starfleet officer, and a mighty good one at that.” Jim sighed again, shrugged. “Life in the service is… She must have needed to give it all a meaning -give father’s death a meaning.” He smiled bitterly. “She’s our mother. She’s family. We should give her a chance.”

“Whatever.” Sam’s expression softened, then, and he plucked a flower from the ground, twirled it twice between thumb and forefinger before he threw it at his brother. “I’ll think about it, Jimmy, I promise. But… don’t get your hopes up too high.”

Jim laughed. “I won’t, don’t worry.”

For a while they just sat there in silence, both feeling vaguely awkward, strange, undefined expectations stretching like molasses between them, until the sound of unstable steps caused them to instinctively jump up, twin expressions of wary alert painted on their faces.

“Captain?” came Spock’s uncharacteristically rough voice before he finally extricated himself from the thick wall of corn. He sneezed, and Kirk chuckled fondly. Behind him, Uhura was threading far more gracefully despite the shortcomings of her uniform, and she skidded to a halt in front of the other humans, greeting them with a smile.

“What an inhospitable environment,” the Vulcan muttered under his breath, tugging down the hem of his shirt in a firm motion and barely resisting the urge to scratch at his itching nose. Warmth spread within him, however, when Jim threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close to his side: “It’s not inhospitable. It’s home!”

“Home,” Spock repeated dubiously. He let his gaze sweep around his holographic surroundings, at the overwhelming blues and greens that were so alien to him, at the gentler yellows, at the disturbing lack of reds; it was as far from his concept of _home_ as a planet would ever get, and yet… The more he looked, the more it seemed to him as if he was doing so through Jim’s eyes… As if the picture of home was being painted over something that did not belong to him, as if his mind was making room for a new definition, one that was contrary to the original and nonetheless fit perfectly at its side. “Indeed,” he murmured, understanding without knowing how.

Kirk beamed at him in a dazzling fashion, squeezed him tighter to himself for a moment and then let go of him completely, but only after he had traced a burning trail across the Vulcan’s hand with one fingertip, leaving him to fight to maintain his composure. “Anyway! Spock, I want you to meet my brother Sam. Sam, this is my favourite Vulcan and First Officer.”

Spock watched as the human swept a quick calculating gaze over him; the smile he was shown did not reach his eyes, and he bore a rough, dangerous appearance the half-blood did not quite appreciate. “Nice seeing you,” he said, raising the ta’al.

The scientist reciprocated quickly. “I am… honoured,” he replied, hoping Jim did not catch his slight hesitation -it had lasted for but one point seventeen seconds. It was difficult for him to welcome this man who had deserted his t’hy’la when he was at his most vulnerable, difficult to trust him when so great was the pain he had wrought, and yet his Captain looked so proud to be finally able to introduce them. Spock would not disappoint him. “I thank you for what you and your team have done for me.”

Sam flashed him a grim smirk: “Believe me, it was our pleasure. We’ve been chasing the likes of Ezarta round the Galaxy for years.”

“Undoubtedly.” He paused politely to allow his interlocutor to speak if he so chose, then turned towards Kirk: “Jim, we have come to find you because Nyota wishes to make a request of you, and she needs me to be present.”

“Yeah? What’s that you wanna ask?” Jim’s eyes twinkled with barely-hidden humour as he turned to share a conspiratorial glance with his Communications Officer. “Miss Uhura?”

She grinned widely: “As you know, sir, tomorrow night we’re hosting a party to celebrate the successful end of our first five-year mission.” Her smile became, if possible, even more mischievous than before, and Spock shifted uncomfortably: he was starting to, so to say, get _a bad feeling_ about this exchange.

“I am aware, Lieutenant. What of it?” Kirk demanded with mock seriousness.

“You see, this Vulcan here…” Nyota tugged at the Commander’s elbow, forcing him to step forward. “Is categorically refusing to play.” She shot him a very dirty look. “I need your help convincing him.”

The Captain chuckled lively, crossed his arms and turned to scrutinise Spock’s carefully neutral expression. “Now, now,” he chanted, “We can’t very well force him, can we?” Before the Vulcan had time to experience relief at Jim’s decision to leave him be, he continued: “But wouldn’t the crew just _love it_ if he played for them?”

Though it was a rhetorical question, Uhura answered it anyway, producing a very dramatic sigh: “They would, sir. It would be a success. And little Saavik would be so happy.”

It was Spock’s turn now to glare murderously at his friend -how dare she use his… _partiality_ … to Saavik against him in such a manner? Caught between a rock and a hard place, the half-blood glanced fleetingly at Samuel -who had been standing silently and looking bemusedly at them- hoping for some kind of distraction. “I do not think…”

Kirk’s warm hand came to rest on his shoulder, and their eyes met: his t’hy’la was projecting nothing but sincerity now, and his smile was gentle. “You don’t have to if you don’t feel up to it, of course,” he murmured, “But, well, it would be really great if you did.”

The Vulcan cocked his head to the side, distracted by the rather loud bubbling of Jim’s bright expectations, of his evident excitement at the thought of him singing and playing his _ka’athyra_ for the crew, for the Enterprise… Since the meld, he had become so attuned to the human’s emotions, and he could feel them tingling his skin now, a low, pleasant buzz of affection and hopefulness that he couldn’t, in all honesty, refuse.

“I… Very well. I shall play.” 

* * *

 

He was hungry, and desperate, and frightened. As he ran and ran and ran he found his breath coming short, felt a numbing pain travel up from his feet to his knees to his trembling thighs. Everything around him was chaos. The city was falling apart, and people were screaming…

“ _The_ _revolution is successful. But survival depends on drastic measures_.” The order had come more than ten minutes before, and now it was playing, over and over and over like an old-fashioned broken record. Guards were swarming the place, rounding up those who were to die so that others might live.

“ _Your continued existence represents a threat to the well-being of society._ ” Oh, but he wondered, was it right to flee? Was it right to try and save himself? He was worthless and undesirable; no one had sought to protect him -no mother had thrown herself between him and an officer and begged them to take her life instead. No father. He wouldn’t be missed…

“ _Your lives mean slow death to the more valued members of the colony. Therefore, I have no alternative but to sentence you to death_.” He couldn’t see clearly through the film of angry tears blinding his eyes, but he could hear the cries piercing the stale air, even though his blood was pounding furiously in his ears. If he stopped it would all be over, and damn, he did not want it to be over, even if _it_ was his poor excuse of a life, he wanted his chances, he wanted his future, he wanted so much it burned his insides with new strength.

Run, run, run, run.

 _Must leave the city_. Yes, it would take some time before the guards started searching the woods, he could get there, he just had to run faster… _Must hide_. He remembered there was a rock formation deep into the forest, and rock meant caves and tunnels, and a greater height meant he could build a fort, have strategic advantage… _Find food. Find_ _water_. Once the first wave of break-ins was done, he could come back, gather anyone who would follow him, raid the officer’s quarters… _Hunt_.

He had to keep thinking of the future (even if the future was minutes away) lest he stopped believing in it altogether… It was so easy to get lost in the fear and the pain and the noise…

_Please, live, live, live!_

Spock woke with a start, gasping in the darkness of his room as images from a nightmare _not his_ poured into his mind, invading it completely. Instinctually, he recoiled from the bed, landing softly on the floor on all fours, so he could escape the contact that was sure to be blamed for the unasked-for insight into his t’hy’la’s dreaming consciousness.

But it did not stop.

The Vulcan crouched there for long minutes, observing the human as he slept, his naked skin glowing from a faint sheen of sweat, his face twisted in a hard grimace, his pointless thrashing about in response to – _Run, run, just a little more, a little more, I gotta_ …

How? How was it _possible_?

He felt Jim’s emotions as if they were his own, and even his body was responding accordingly: adrenaline pumped fast and thrilling in his veins, his senses were alert, as if preparing for an imminent struggle… Swallowing hard, Spock raised a hand and, without even bothering to suppress the shaking of his arm, he reached out to brush just the very tips of his fingers across his Captain’s cheek. It was almost enough to drag him back deep into the nightmare. Again, he withdrew.

The Vulcan found he could not concentrate with such a mayhem raging in his mind, and frantically searched for a way to shut it out -the most logical solution would be to wake the human, but he was too wrapped up in his confusion to _act_.

_Oh, please, please, no, don’t kill them!_

A half-sob was wrenched out of his lips in response to the pain that sliced through his brain - _Jim_ ’s pain. The vicious charm that held him frozen in place broke as soon as the first whimper left his _k’diwa_ ’s throat, the ancient emotions he so masterfully held at bay took complete control over him, and it was as if liquid fire was pooling inside him, a burning urge to shield, to protect, to rescue.

His t’hy’la _must not hurt_.

Spock was back on the bed in the fraction of an instant, wrapped around his human and pressing forehead and fingers against his face, calling for him, for his t’hy’la, for his _telsu_ , willing him to part from his horrifying memories to be with him again. He did not let himself take the time to pause and think, really _think_ about the meaning of his actions, of this shared pain, of this fierce need to bring relief, think about the implications of the one word the ancestral part of his mind was screaming at him: _telsu_ , bondmate.

If he did, if he stopped to face the consequences of a truth he could not ignore anymore, it would be the end of everything. But Jim required help.

“Wake up, k’diwa,” he whispered into a round ear, “Please, you are safe, t’hy’la.”

There was confusion, distant recognition, and finally a sense of safety which chased away the last vestiges of fear -Spock felt it all like water poured gently into his soul, and it was beautiful and forbidden and wrong, wrong, wrong- then Kirk’s eyes opened before he scrambled up into a sitting position, panting and sweating and looking for all the world as if he was about to grab the Vulcan by the wrist and start running.

He did not, however, and for long minutes they stayed still, watching one another.

“You had a nightmare,” the half-blood eventually said, barely registering the quivering of his own voice. “It was…” Spock could not find a way to describe the horror he had witnessed, but the human seemed to understand, for he rasped out a quick: “Yeah. I… I know. I’m used to them.” He coughed into the crook of his arm, cleared his throat. “Fetch me a glass of water, will you?”

“Of course.” Grateful for something to do, the Vulcan left the bed, crossing the room to the replicator and back again. He kept his gaze trailed on the cool liquid, the sense of mixed culpability and sorrow he felt too strong to let him face his t’hy’la just yet. “Here.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Jim’s tone was soft and full of love, because he was unaware of the terrible, unforgivable crime Spock had committed.

“Is there anything else I can do?” the scientist asked, demanded almost.

Kirk smiled at him and rearranged the covers in one swift motion. “You can come back to bed and let me hold you for a while,” he offered, spreading his arms as far as they would go in the crammed space.

Both dreading and ardently desiring the physical proximity, the Vulcan returned to his now customary resting place, curled all over the human, much like a terran feline -or a sehlat- would. He felt his Captain squeeze him tight and press kisses into his hair, but the gravity of the discovery he had made would not let him relax into such loving -undeserved- attention; the thrill of another’s presence into his mind only served to turn his stomach, for he had wronged his beloved so much…

_What have I done?_

* * *

 

Spock stared down at his sensors, watching the figures play across the screen without really seeing them. There was nothing worth noticing in the space they were travelling through, anyway, nothing to keep his mind busy: and so it wandered to territories that were better off unexplored…

“We’re less than an earth day away from Deneva,” Chekov was saying cheerfully, though his voice came distant and somewhat surreal to the Vulcan’s ears. “ETA eighteen hours at present speed.”

He was eternally grateful for the designer who had placed his station in such a way that he had his back to the rest of the bridge crew; sitting straight with his head held high, he was the very picture of professionalism, and no one could see his face. Spock let his eyes flutter closed for but a second. He felt… drained.

“Great! Thanks, Chekov.” Jim’s bright tone was extremely soothing, yet the Vulcan had to resist the sudden urge to flee. “Sulu, go to Warp factor four. I want to be there by morning.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

A burning blush tinted Spock’s cheeks green as he became abruptly aware of a building warmth in the back of his mind; his instinctual, unchecked response was to turn towards its source, and he found his Captain looking at him. As soon as their eyes met, Kirk smiled wide and got up; the Vulcan’s gaze followed his every movement as he came to stand by his chair.

Guilt bubbled within him as he stared up at the lovely -oblivious- grin directed his way, and he swallowed unsteadily, fighting down the disturbing need to vomit. “Is there something you require, Captain?” he asked, trying his best at _normal_ and _virtuous_.

The human chuckled, evidently amused by the formality. “I just received the most amazing message from Starfleet,” he told him, “They think they’ve found a lost ship.”

Momentarily distracted by the unexpected news, Spock managed a genuinely surprised eyebrow raise. “Indeed? Do you happen to know which?”

Kirk nodded excitedly: “The _Shenzou_ , remember? The one that disappeared on the edges of unknown space?”

The Vulcan blinked. “Are you quite sure it is the _Shenzou_?” Anticipation welled up inside him, and he wondered just how much of it he was projecting across the link in which he had unwittingly ensnared Jim’s mind, because the human gave him a strange look before he answered: “Yeah. Captain Georgiou’s ship.”

 _Captain Philippa Georgiou_ -he remembered her from his teenage years, when more than once he’d overheard his father talk to her about how he wanted Michael to join Starfleet, how he believed the _Shenzou_ would be beneficial in helping her find a more human approach to life.

So many lies – Spock knew, and Michael hadn’t, that Sarek had wanted nothing but to make her into a perfect Vulcan, and she _had_ been perfect, more so than his sons. She would have become the pride and joy of the Science Academy, if only they had let her join… If they had not been deterred by a pair of rounded ears and level eyebrows.

Jim’s voice brought him back to the present: “You heard of it?”

“…I have.”

He thought about his sister, who had been missing for so long -wondered how she could be made to face the fact that Vulcan was gone, and her foster mother dead, along with most of the people she knew and remembered, that their father was looking for a new bondmate with whom to pass the Pon Farr… He wondered if she had changed, and how much. But then again, what were the odds that she had survived?

“You say a ship has been found. And… her crew?”

This time, the human shook his head, and his ever-present smile faded. “We still don’t know.”

Disappointment was not something he should be feeling right then. “I see.” Spock decided to keep such knowledge from his father until he could provide facts, not just vague possibilities; he remembered the Ambassador’s fondness for the human-turned-Vulcan, and did not wish to cause him undue pain.

Jim’s hand brushed his shoulder, then, and the science officer felt his mind catch fire from the simple contact; the bond flared up as fragments of thoughts slithered forth, vague recollections of the nightmare of before and burning curiosity for the legendary ship about to be discovered, and shameless appreciation of the shape of Spock’s mouth, and…

The telepath blocked the incoming flux as soon as he noticed it, though he couldn’t help the way his mind reached back, more than willing to equally share its secrets.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your _sciencing_ ,” Kirk breathed into his ear, laughing quietly at the made-up word. “Chess tonight?”

Spock did not have the strength to rebuke him for his less than professional behaviour, therefore he merely dipped his head once. Incapable of tearing his eyes from Jim’s aesthetically pleasing form, the Vulcan watched him return to the Captain’s chair and sit majestically.

He would have to tell him of the bond soon. His t’hy’la deserved to know, deserved to have a choice in the matter, deserved the autonomy of a human marriage, of a human’s privacy.

If he had allowed himself to, Spock might have feared Kirk’s reaction -what would such an independent, freedom-seeking being do in the face of the knowledge that his partner of all people had stolen that same freedom from him?

Jim _trusted_ him unconditionally.

Oh, how could he have been so careless? This link that should have been the happiest of all things was but the worst of nuisances, and it was sure to cause a rift between them. The Vulcan calculated a mere seven percent probability that his t’hy’la would be pleased by the news -unlikely as it was, a tiny, extremely irrational part of him couldn’t help but hope, because after all, he had loved the meld, had he not?

A shiver went down his spine, cold and unsettling. What he had done was punishable by his planet’s law, and there was no logic in engaging in wishful thinking when he was so ostensibly in the wrong. Jim had every right to cast him away if he so wanted, or even _break_ the bond… And Spock would have to abide by his desires, entirely and without question.

He bowed his head, and the dim lights coming off of his instruments blurred under his unfocused eyes. _“I’m not entirely convinced it won’t end in an ugly, painful mess”_. His beloved’s words from months before had a strange sort of chill settle inside him, because for all that he had refused them they now seemed to ring truer than ever.

What would he do if he lost Jim?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go!! Next chapter will be Deneva (but not the Tos episode, which will come at a later date) and I warn you in advance (though, eh... it's canon) there will be a MINOR CHARACTER DEATH.  
> About Michael and Star Trek Discovery in general: you need not be worried for spoilers, for there won't be any since this is, after all, the ALTERNATE original series; the characters will be there (mostly Michael, maybe Philippa and Saru, Tilly... I have not yet decided) occasionally.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this story so far and stick around for some serious Kohlinar angst and sweet lovely make up in the end!


	6. Bereft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No! I just… I can’t do this right now!” The human ran both hands through his dirty hair in a gesture of frustration and defeat. “Just… I need space, okay?”
> 
> Space? What did it mean, space? Why were terrans so prone to figures of speech and metaphors? Why couldn’t they be clear on what they wanted, what they expected of others? “Jim, wait, I…” He followed when his t’hy’la retreated. Please, explain.
> 
> Kirk rounded on him. His teeth shone white when he bared them in an ugly grimace. “Fucking leave!” he spat. The Vulcan held his breath and stilled. “Leave me alone!”
> 
> Spock’s eyes widened. He waited one more moment – he was not sure why, maybe he hoped Jim would take his order back, or maybe he required that time to simply process his request. It had, after all, been eminently clear. “Then fare thee well, Jim.”
> 
> He walked away.
> 
> Jim heard him request beam up on the Enterprise. When he was gone, and only then, the Captain let himself fall to the floor and crumble to pieces. Maybe Bones would come and collect him eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... You forgot I was even alive, eh? Apologies! I have been busy with my exams (which aren't even over yet). I know that's no excuse, but I do find it difficult to write character death. Plus, I'm working on my very own novel!  
> Oh, right! WARNING: MINOR CHARACTER DEATH. But we all know who it is (at least those who watched Tos)  
> This is the Chapter of Angst. I promise sweet fluff by the end of chapter eight, though!
> 
> Please, enjoy! And forgive me!

**_6_ **

**_Bereft_ **

 

 

The Deneva Station could boast one of the most peaceful, unique gardens of all the human colonies; it was no wonder to Jim that Spock had asked they spend the morning there. The extremely diverse flora was divided by sectors, each with its own microclimate, thus giving the impression that the two Starfleet officers were walking across the Galaxy, and not a limited, however vast, space. They were both silent.

“There is something of importance I must tell you,” Spock had said as they shared their breakfast in the Captain’s quarters. Jim had smiled at him, kissed his forehead and nodded, feeling confident enough in their relationship not to question him further.

Now, though, as they threaded through soft, blue-tinted grass, unease was starting to have the better of him: his Vulcan was quiet, looking closed-off and far away, and his eyes spoke of nothing but guilt and apprehension. As if he was afraid of the human’s reaction to his words, as if he knew he would cause pain, or anger at least. Kirk reached out and gently grasped his hand, holding it delicately, to comfort rather than arouse, and a weird, absolutely foreign sense of burning shame flooded his mind for the briefest of instants before vanishing entirely. He blinked in confusion.

Spock shivered minutely and squeezed his hand back, blushing a little. _That’s more like it_ , Jim thought, smirking privately. He led the half-blood through the thick foliage, ignoring the itching of his nose in response to the pollen floating in the humid air, and did not let go of him until they were out of that section and into another -dry heat and crimson hues, the scent of sand so strong it nearly overwhelmed, foreign song of the artificial wind brushing the dunes and the rich, water-conserving vegetation.

“Is this what it was like, on Vulcan?” Kirk asked tactfully.

The scientist cocked his head to the side, not even glancing at the stunning corner of desert around them. “Somewhat,” he answered, “It is a very close replica.”

“Do you want to stop here for a while?” The human pointed at a skilfully sculpted iron bench. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Surprised, Spock squeezed his hand a little, inching closer. “Please,” he murmured simply. They sat, side by side, and Jim wrapped an arm around his Vulcan’s shoulders, rubbing his back in wide, soothing circles. He looked so heartbreakingly sad. Kirk didn’t know what to do but stare uncomprehendingly up at those oh-so-terribly human eyes and the sense of helplessness they conveyed.

“Spock, listen, if you have something to tell me, do it now,” he pressed after a while, turning more fully towards him. “I’ve gotta meet with Sam and Aurelan in, like, twenty minutes.”

“Twenty-four minutes, sixteen seconds,” the half-blood corrected in what really seemed to be an automatic reaction to his Captain’s imprecision. He quirked an eyebrow at the human as if daring him to contradict him, but that, too, was short-lived and half-hearted.

“Right,” Jim muttered under his breath. He waited for his _t’hy’la_ to finally reveal what was on his mind. Instead, the Vulcan reached out and drew a finger over his arm, up to his shoulder, then came to rest his whole hand on the side of his face; the touch was delicate, barely-there, and for the first time in years it conveyed nothing, as if the telepath had actively returned to shielding. It was incredibly out of character for him to initiate physical contact of such intimate nature, especially in a public space. “Spock, come on. Speak up. I won’t bite.”

The left corner of Spock’s mouth curved upwards at that. “It is a… delicate matter…” he began uncertainly, not quite looking at him. “I…”

There was a long, suspended pause, then the Vulcan let out a choppy breath and slumped into his seat. “Perhaps I shall tell you afterwards,” he said, giving up.

“Spock, really?” Kirk blurted out in disbelief. He was starting to feel seriously worried by his lover’s reticence, and an ugly seed of doubt planted itself somewhere between consciousness and subconscious, whispering _What if he wants to leave and he’s afraid to tell you?_ He squashed it. _Spock would never_.

The Vulcan bowed his head in shame, brow furrowed and eyes searching. “Please, I… I do not know how to…” He swallowed hard. “I need more time.”

 _Should I insist?_ Jim wondered, studying the other’s shattered expression, _should I_ make _him talk_? But he couldn’t do that, not to Spock, not after all he’d been through recently. He should be patient and considerate. No matter that he wouldn’t rest well until his friend finally revealed to him what all the fuss was about. “Okay, then, baby,” he murmured, then watched with vague horror as his First Officer nearly crumpled against him, curling in on himself as if exhausted.

A frightening understanding dawned on him. “Are you… still experiencing derealization?” he asked slowly.

“I…” The light blush that coloured Spock’s cheeks was telling enough, and he _knew_ it. “Not at the moment…” he tried, but one look at Kirk’s unimpressed glare and he yielded. “Yes. I am.”

Jim pulled him into his arms and kissed his lips softly. “Oh, Spock. I wish there was something I could do about it,” he whispered into his hair.

“It is just the occasional, sporadic episode.” The Vulcan relaxed, but only just, into the embrace, moving to press his right ear over the human’s heart. A sigh escaped him. “They will… fade with time.”

And for the remaining twelve minutes, they held on to each other in silence.

* * *

They felt the explosion before they even heard it. A powerful heatwave crashed against them as they walked up the steps to the main building, making them stumble and retreat. In a move that had become instinctual after years of training and countless away missions, Jim caught Spock by the shoulder and pulled him down to the floor, craning his neck so he could see what was happening.

Confusion made the slow slide into disbelief as his eyes were nearly blinded by the sudden blink of reddish light, and _it was not possible_ … Then came the sound, a rumbling, deafening roar that made the earth tremble. Jim’s breath was rushed but he could not hear it. He stared, transfixed, as the building held on for one endless moment – before it crumbled, falling in on itself.

People were probably screaming – though it was muted – and running away from the crash. Kirk was frozen. Sam. Sam was inside – Sam needed help – he was inside.

_Sam!_

But he couldn’t move.

“…Jim! Jim! Jim, we must go!”

His hearing returned as suddenly as it had gone, yet he couldn’t quite pay attention to what was being said around him. Everything sounded the same, and the heat from the fire made his cheeks burn and his heart beat faster and _he had to help_...

“ _Jim_!”

He realised his grip on Spock had loosened only when the Vulcan twisted out from beneath his arm. Slowly, as if in a dream, he began to turn towards him… But the scientist enclosed his wrist in one hand and dragged him forcibly away, to safety.

“No,” Kirk muttered. Sam! He must…! He was ready to throw himself into the flames – that’s what he always did, wasn’t it? Jump into danger if it meant rescuing someone. And this was his brother, he had to… “No! Lemme _go_!”

His First Officer did not even look at him.

“Spock! Spock, wait!” Jim jerked his arm forcefully, though it only served to send a stabbing pain cursing through his wrist and all the way to his neck. “Spock!”

He dug his heels. The Vulcan frowned but did not relent. “Dammit! Let go of me, Sam is in there…!”

Spock shook his head briskly, wide eyes reflecting the red glare of the fire as he stopped dead in his tracks: “Too late!” he hissed. “Look!”

And just then, just as the half-blood pressed his palm on the middle of his back and flattened him to the ground, a new explosion tore the building apart from beneath. It shattered, like those houses of cards Jim had become so good at making in the years after Tarsus, it shattered and there was nothing he could do to stop it, though if it hadn’t been for the hand pinning him down he would have certainly tried to hold it up, he would have made the attempt and maybe died, who cared?

But it was over now. Security guards and medics were swarming the place – Kirk thought he saw Bones and his nurses out of the corner of his eye. Finally, Spock freed him, and they got up swiftly.

“I am sorry, Jim,” the Vulcan murmured, and he had the gall to _look_ it. “I grieve with thee.”

Jim slapped him the face, hard. His First Officer did not even flinch; perhaps he knew he deserved it, or perhaps he was just being his usual noble self. Whatever.

“I’m going to help the others,” the Captain said, walking away without a second glance.

Spock followed.

* * *

It was well into the night that Kirk finally allowed himself a moment of respite. He was seething, tired, covered in smoke and dirt and slime and just about ready to explode. Throughout the whole ordeal, as they dug and explored the ruined building, pulling up people who were either dead of very nearly so, he had not spoken a word to his Second in Command, even though he had shadowed the Captain more than he usually did.

Spock went to stand before him, watched as he trembled slightly because he was so wired up, watched him lean against the outer wall of the infirmary and turn his head away.

“Jim, talk to me. Please.”

The eyes that fell on him were so dark, so full of carefully controlled rage that he flinched and stepped back, as if expecting to be hit again. Kirk scoffed under his breath. “Trust me, you don’t want to know what I’m thinking,” he snarled.

“I always want to know your thoughts,” Spock said truthfully. “You are in pain. Let me help.”

“Like you helped before?” Jim laughed, and it was frightening how hollow it sounded. “No, thanks.”

Spock bit his lower lip, but this time he took a step forward and crossed his arms. “Are you referring to the fact that I kept you from entering a building that was on fire?”

Kirk’s eyes flashed. “That’s an interesting way to put it,” he quipped.

“You would have killed yourself,” the Vulcan spelled out very slowly, confused that there was even a need to tell him so, “There was not a chance you would have survived.”

The human pushed himself off the wall and was suddenly crowding his personal space, screaming into his face. “Sam is _dead_ – you shouldn’t have stopped me!”

He refused to be intimidated. “I could not allow you to…”

“ _Allow_?!”

“I cherish your life more than my own,” Spock told him quite plainly, feeling a little lost. He didn’t understand why he was being blamed for something that was clearly not his fault. The temptation to simply open the bond and take a peek directly into his t’hy’la’s mind was strong. He resisted it. “I couldn’t let you…”

“Let me! Let me! You don’t let me _anything_ , Spock!” Kirk shouted, and several nurses stopped in their tasks to stare at them. Thankfully, the Captain had enough self-control left that he lowered his tone, but only just. “You have no _right_ to! My life is fucking _mine_ and you have no say in it, understand?!”

The Vulcan swallowed. “That is not what…”

Jim interrupted him again, blinded by grief and unwilling to hear reason: “I spent the last month running across the galaxy for you, I don’t owe you anything!”

Spock’s mouth opened but he did not make a sound. The human’s emotions were bleeding though his shields, and they _hurt_. He did not know how to reply to that – that truth that he had always been aware of, though he’d tried to silence it. Jim had been so good to him, whereas what good had he done Jim?

“That was my brother in there! My brother! Do you even have an idea – no, of course you don’t.”

Kirk looked so drained. Spock ached for him. “Jim, I _…” I – what? I know how you feel even though I should not? I have tied your mind to mine against your will and you will hate me when I tell you?_

“I could have saved him! I _could have_!” He would not accept the possibility that all had been lost from the start; it was far, far easier to blame the Vulcan for stopping him, it made him a little less helpless in the face of events, and it wasn’t fair but he did not have enough energy to care.

“No, you couldn’t have. I am sorry.”

Those words fell on him like judgement, and cut through him like a sword. “My brother fucking _died_ right in front of me after I’d just seen him for the first since I was damn kid! And if you hadn’t been there, I…”

“Would have died with him.”

“Maybe I wanted that.” He said it out of spite, because he was furious and guilty and broken and he couldn’t – just couldn’t – believe that he had outlived yet another person he loved, and he looked at Spock and wondered idly how long till he, too, would be gone. _Sam had just come back_.

“Please, Jim…” the Vulcan whispered, reaching a hand to him. His t’hy’la was slipping away so fast and he couldn’t bear to see him so closed off and distant, it wasn’t right.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Kirk snapped.

Spock recoiled. “As you wish,” he breathed. Then he found his courage again. “Jim, you must understand what it means to be t’hy’la… I cannot…”

“This isn’t about you! I could care less – Sam is _dead_!” Even as he said it, there was a tiny part of him that cried and begged and howled that _no he was not, he could not be, not now nor ever, please, let him not be dead_. “No amount of t’hy’la can bring him back!”

“Please, Jim.”

“No! I just… I can’t do this right now!” The human ran both hands through his dirty hair in a gesture of frustration and defeat. “Just… I need space, okay?”

Space? What did it mean, space? Why were terrans so prone to figures of speech and metaphors? Why couldn’t they be clear on what they wanted, what they expected of others? “Jim, wait, I…” He followed when his t’hy’la retreated. _Please, explain_.

Kirk rounded on him. His teeth shone white when he bared them in an ugly grimace. “Fucking _leave_!” he spat. The Vulcan held his breath and stilled. “ _Leave me alone_!”

Spock’s eyes widened. He waited one more moment – he was not sure why, maybe he hoped Jim would take his order back, or maybe he required that time to simply process his request. It had, after all, been eminently clear. “Then fare thee well, Jim.”

He walked away.

Jim heard him request beam up on the Enterprise. When he was gone, and only then, the Captain let himself fall to the floor and crumble to pieces. Maybe Bones would come and collect him eventually.

* * *

When Jim stumbled back into his quarters, mind stunned with how much he had drunk – honestly, it was a miracle McCoy had allowed it – he didn’t even notice Spock’s absence; he crashed into the bed on top of the covers, fully dressed and aching deep into his soul. Time seemed to still as he stared numbly at the blurred crease of the blanket in which his face was half-hidden, then he finally fell asleep, and dreamt of nothing.

He awoke to a pounding in his head and a sour taste at the back of his mouth. Frowning with a sort of resigned weariness as the events of the previous day crashed over him like a pile of boulders, the Starship Captain pulled himself up unsteadily, looking around in mild confusion.

He was alone. Ignoring the insistent burning of his eyes, he ordered the lights on, stumbling about in near blindness for a while until he resigned himself to sitting back down. Kirk stared into the room, fingers twisting uselessly in his lap as a sense of dread spilled from his heart into his chest, freezing him in place with his mouth hanging half-open.

There was nothing in his quarters to indicate the presence of another – nothing that would betray the passing of a second person: gone was the blue shirt Spock always kept neatly folded onto a chair in case they were surprised by a red alert; gone was the glass of clear water he would leave for Jim on the bedside table if he overslept; gone were the candles and sticks of incense that never failed to bring him peace; gone were the million tiny things that spoke of his quiet caring and his obsession with order and…

“I don’t understand,” Kirk said aloud, digging his nails into his knees with such force that his knuckles turned white. Searching for clues – something, anything, reassurance, an explanation – his gaze landed on the desk, empty but for the Padd set with careful precision right at the centre. He could just _see_ Spock placing it silently there, shoulders hunched with the weight of whatever it was that had pushed him to this, and then leaving as invisibly as he had come.

Jim walked heavily across his living space and picked the Padd up, switching it on with a quick swipe of his thumb; squinting to clear the remaining haze of his hungover, he gaped uncomprehendingly at the official request of resignation that Spock – t’hy’la, _why_ – had submitted to him.

 

 _I hereby ask to be discharged of all duties to the_ Enterprise _, as per Starfleet regulations, pending my decision to return to the aforementioned Colony in order to assist my people in what capacity is required._

 

He was… gone. Spock was _gone_. He had left.

And Jim’s mind flew immediately back at all the things he’d said to him, all the anger and hurt that had made him lash out and spit venom and be cruel. _“Fucking leave!”_ He’d snarled in the face of his beloved. _“Leave me alone!”_ He hadn’t expected the Vulcan to take him so literally, he had meant _leave for now and please come collect me in a while_ , he had meant _just let me handle this and then I promise I’ll make it up to you later, I need a moment to unwind_.

He hadn’t meant _leave the Enterprise_. He hadn’t meant _leave forever_.

With growing dread, Jim thought back to the previous morning, to the confession Spock hadn’t been able to bring himself to make, and damn it, he should have known! It was so obvious – it wasn’t even the first time the half-blood had claimed he wished to return to the colony, he practically had his resignation letter ready what, a year and a half ago?

He’d told Kirk he had chosen to stay for him, and Kirk had been so stupid to believe him… But now the mission was over, and apparently Spock had nothing to keep him on the _Enterprise_.

Duty first.

And Jim should have expected this. _So much for commitment_.

A snarl filled his mouth as he glared holes into the Padd. Then, with a not entirely unexpected surge of helpless fury, he threw the offending device against the opposite wall. “You traitor!” he screamed into the empty room, “ _Fuck you_!”

After all they had shared – after what they’d been through, all those promises and vows and the _meld_ – how could he have left like this? _Why?_

He had given Spock everything - _fucking_ everything- he’d let him into his life and heart and mind, he’d showed him his worst memories, he’d loved him, damn it! Still did. And what good had that done him?

Kirk flopped down on the bed, feeling numb, empty, just like the room. His scalding anger had vanished in a blink in the face of what he couldn’t change, and as he stared at the wall he wondered how long it would be before Bones came to check up on him and he’d have to tell him everything.

Tell him he had been a fool and gotten hurt again, _so would you please be patient and patch me back up like the awesome doctor you are?_ Leonard would be livid and blame the _hobgoblin_ for being such an _insensitive jerk_ and call him names and probably threaten to travel seven days in space just to _kick his damn ass_ ; and Jim would defend him, because Spock wasn’t insensitive, Spock was sweet and logical and conflicted and in pain.

How could Jim compete with the Colony? How could he blame the Vulcan for leaving to aid his dying people? How could he resent him when he was doing the right thing? Those six years he had given Starfleet were more than anyone had ever dared wish for; a gift, a parenthesis, a glimpse into what could had been, in another universe, in different circumstances. It was over, now, and all Kirk could do was be thankful for it and move on.

_I can’t fault him for his loyalty._

Spock was well aware Jim’s first, best destiny was to sail the stars aboard the _Enterprise_ ; he would never ask him to renounce his Captaincy – he would never put him in such a difficult position. And so he had chosen for him, removed himself from the equation, spared him the embarrassment of having to turn him down, to tell him _Baby, I love you more than anything, but I can’t come with you_.

Kirk was self-aware enough to know there wasn’t any other answer he could have given him: he was going to miss Spock -already missed Spock- like air to breathe, but he couldn’t sacrifice his whole future for him; he wasn’t ready to leave space, it was the first real home he’d ever had, he couldn’t just relinquish it, could he?

No.

As always, Spock was right. It didn’t make it any less terrible and infuriating and heart-breaking.

He sure wished the last thing he’d told him hadn’t been an insult.

* * *

Spock stumbled into the furniture of his room in his father’s house, and crashed hard against the wall; the sharp pain radiating from his elbow and all the way up his arm did nothing to bring his mind to focus, and his eyes were wide and glazed, seeing things that weren’t there, things that didn’t exist, because how could they exist when nothing was real, _nothing_ …

His Padd was blinking rapidly, displaying an incoming message from Nyota; he glanced at it uncomprehendingly, surely he must be imagining the sounds coming from it? Surely he must be imagining the friend who asked him _Where are you? Why don’t you answer? Do you need help?_

A cold voice was ringing through his brain, and it was as though it dictated the very beats of his heart and the taste of his thoughts and the truths that were his foundation…

_“In that world, no one would befriend you. Stop creating illusions, it will only hurt you.”_

He coughed and fell to his knees, catching himself on his palms before his face could hit the floor, and as he panted in agony the hot air of the desert filled his lungs. But it did not feel comforting; it felt alien, as did everything else. He was so close to crumbling to pieces… His arms shook, for supporting his own weight had been reduced to a challenge, and his stomach turned even though it was empty -he hadn’t eaten since, since…

 _The Enterprise. Twelve point sixteen days_.

Reality was slowly starting to revert back to something tangible and quantifiable, if not entirely logical, and for long minutes he sat in silence, counting his own ragged breaths as they, very slowly, evened out.

 _This needs to cease_.

He rubbed his temples as if to chase away the lingering headache born of the combined strain of keeping Jim’s side of the bond completely shielded and painless, and fighting the repeated onslaughts of what was left of Ezarta’s mind-conditioning. The touch of his own fingers, however, did nothing to lessen his discomfort. But then again, he had become quite used to having the human’s constant support and the warm balm of his affection to soothe him. The prolonged absence of his t’hy’la was nearly unendurable, and did nothing to help him regain some semblance of stability.

 _I have brought this upon myself_ , he very reasonably reminded himself.

With a soft, exhausted sigh, Spock got back up on his feet, feeling a chill settle deep in his bones from a loneliness that not even the sun of the Colony could thaw. New Vulcan was as foreign to him as Earth had been, as was this room he was standing in, a stranger’s room, devoid of memories and so impersonal it had made him cringe the first time he saw it.

Surak said it was illogical to attach value to material things. Many a terran philosopher had said so too. Yet as of late he found it increasingly difficult to keep hold of those same principles he’d sworn to uphold as a child. They used to drive him -give him purpose; now he was unravelling.

He had waited long enough for Jim to come to him, or at the very least reply to the letter he’d left attached to his resignation papers. But if the human chose to never see him again, Spock would have to accept it – it was his fault, first for being so careless as to let a bond form spontaneously and without the consent of both parties, and second for being so helplessly afraid of his t’hy’la’s rejection that he ended up not telling him about it at all.

A low hiss escaped his lips. He needed to collect the frayed ends of his control and force them back together, or he would be unable to function; it was obvious this problem was not one he could overcome on his own, he must seek help. Of course, he had hoped to have Jim with him when the time came to visit a Healer, but _kaiidth_. What was could not be changed.

Spock went to sit on his meditation mat, wondering if he was fighting a lost battle, and closed his eyes for meditation.

* * *

 

“I wish to undergo Kolinahr.” Sitting in his father’s living room, staring intently at his father’s unemotional face, Spock spoke in a flat tone, one that conveyed both his unwillingness to rethink his decision and his utter disinterest for his parent’s opinion on the matter.

Sarek’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally, and his expression turned, if possible, a few degrees colder than usual. “I disapprove,” he said at once, twining his fingers in his lap.

Spock raised an eyebrow at that. “It hardly surprises me, sir,” he quipped, biting the inside of his mouth to keep himself from showing any sign of the irritation that was making his blood run faster. “You never approve of my choices.”

“I do not believe you will find what you seek in Gol.” The Ambassador was categorical. “It will be a waste of your time.”

The scientist’s carefully-constructed mask of placid calm cracked a little as he faltered, caught in a sudden urge to flare up against his father, to confront him, to allow himself the luxury of raging for once, let loose his anger and frustration and guilt and pain so they could have free reign upon his person. “How can you _know_ that?”

Cocking his head to the side, Sarek glanced at him as if to say _Have you looked at yourself? You’re in pieces_. “You are emotionally unbalanced,” he stated simply. “You are in no condition to make so important a decision.”

“It is not your place to be the judge of that,” Spock retorted, twisting his hands in his lap.

“You are my son,” was all the Ambassador said.

Feeling the aura of pity his father was projecting, the young Vulcan had to fight the urge to jump out of his chair. Instead, he spoke slowly, putting emphasis on each word: “That is of no consequence.”

Sarek’s stony demeanour returned. “This is not what you desire.”

 _Of course it is not what I desire, of course, but it is what I must do, I must, I must, I must…_ “I am Vulcan, Vulcans do not…”

The Ambassador interrupted him sternly. “Do not lie to my face, my son,” he rebuked, voice cold and tone cutting. “Kolinahr is not the right path for you. _Starfleet_ …”

Spock flinched. This time, he did get up on his feet, a rushing motion he could not contain, and Sarek followed him with far more grace and stability than he would ever hope to achieve. “Won’t you at least give me the benefit of doubt, _father_?” he hissed, hurt and incensed that he would dare mention Starfleet now as a preferable option. He was tired, oh-so-tired, of having to fight him for every step he took, of never being _good enough_.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Must you _always_ be so convinced of my failure?” Spock demanded, and a blush scalded his cheeks at the utter humiliation he felt from the emotions and vulnerability he was displaying.

“Your behaviour is illogical.” Sarek’s admonishment was strict and detached, and served as fuel for his son’s desperate fury.

“I do not care!” he snapped finally, wishing in his mind it was true, wishing he could somehow _not care_ , even for a day, even for a minute.

“And you claim you want to attempt Kolinahr?” his father wondered out loud. There was a hint of mockery there somewhere…

Those words stung, and brought him to silence; the Ambassador did not relent, firmly convinced of the rightness of his position. “This course of action will be detrimental for you,” he declared, “It is already.”

Spock frowned, partly because he knew that to be true and partly because he realised he had been transparent in his distress, and it was unbecoming, it was uncalled for, his father should have had the delicacy not to mention it. “Yet it is what I choose.”

“I _strongly_ object…”

“Father, please. I see no other option.” He was so weary. Dinner seemed so distant, and perhaps he hadn’t had enough to eat, for he was suddenly drained and his vision blurred for a moment. He sat back down – a gesture of surrender and a mute request for a truce. “Can you not accept that?”

When he looked back up, he found Sarek had crouched in front of him -too close- and was raising his hand in the air, as if to request a meld. Spock froze in sheer terror at that, eyes going wide and breath held as seconds ticked by and the quiet in the room grew to become tangible, frightening.

It might be that the Ambassador took mercy on him, or perhaps he was unwilling to join with an unruly mind such as his, or maybe he had sensed far more than he let on… But he renounced the idea of melding, and simply combed his fingers through his son’s mussed hair.

“Then go in peace, my child.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus begins the Kolinahr arc. Don't worry, though. It'll be over soon (well, as soon as I write it?)
> 
> I know that aside from Sam's death there is nothing here of the Deneva episode. That's because it will happen later on in this series, during the second five-year mission!
> 
> I hope this makes sense for you - I decided to push Spock to his limits before I can bring him back to how he should be: more stable, and definitely more controlled. 
> 
> See you next chapter and thanks for putting up with me! Kudos and comments are always appreciated!!
> 
> And for those of you who like my writing and want to know more about my novel: it's a story where Sun and Moon are two lesbians, very much in love, and have to deal with the problems of their world. It's fantasy! A story of love, rebellion, duty and justice!  
> You can find more here, if it's your jam!  
> https://weaver-of-fantasies-and-fables.tumblr.com/


	7. Parted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One corner of the Vulcan’s mouth curved downwards in displeasure, and his eyelids fluttered open. His mind had gained considerable stability in the past two months, thanks to extensive meditation and the practices of Kolinahr, but as it appeared it wasn’t enough. He still thought of Jim quite frequently. If he were entirely honest with himself – an impossible feat, even though he tried his best – he would recognise the fact that he simply had not stopped thinking about the human.
> 
> After all, they were t’hy’la.
> 
> Spock missed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who finished this chapter in ten days straight? Me! I stayed up till 3 am to work out the final parts! Anyhow, this is it! As the title anticipates, our poor star-crossed lovers are Parted throughout the whole thing; which does not, of course, mean that they do not constantly think about each other?  
> Introducing Michael, and jumping on the T'Pau is awesome train !
> 
> Enjoy!

**_7_ **

**_Parted_ **

****

Three weeks had passed since the Deneva incident. San Francisco was bursting with the colours of spring, and so was Starfleet Academy: it was that time of the year when the students prepared their final exams, and gathered in the campus to revise among the fresh grass, unable to resist the bright sunny days the city gifted them with.

The _Enterprise_ had docked nearly a fortnight before, and now it was being rent apart to be rebuilt with the most recent discoveries; Scotty had made a scene upon realising that he was not allowed to follow the repairs from the start, because he was legally forced to take at least a month of leave. Kirk, who knew the woman who was overseeing the proceedings, had managed to sneak a few updates to him, and for the time being the Engineer had been appeased, but it was a near thing.

Investigations to determine who was behind the aggression at the ISS headquarters in Deneva had begun, and the Enterprise crew had been interrogated and sworn to secrecy in front of the Admiralty; so far, all signs pointed at Ezarta’s criminal organisation, which had probably retaliated for the attack at its base.

Jim had had to call his mother to inform her of Sam’s death. It hadn’t been pleasant, but at least Bones had been with him all the time. The doctor had offered – no, demanded – the young Captain live with him and his daughter for the whole duration of the four-month leave, and Kirk wouldn’t have dreamed of refusing. After all, he had nowhere else to go, and little Joanna absolutely _adored_ Uncle Jim, not without reason.

Five days before, the _Shenzou_ had been retrieved. At least three quarters of her crew were alive and well, if a little shaken; Starfleet had given them all a hero’s welcome, and granted them a year of freedom to visit their loved ones. Captain Georgiou, along with her First Officer Burnham, had been asked to share the story of their disappearance, and most importantly their return: their voyage had thrown the entire scientific community in a frenzy, for it violated at least a handful of very important, previously-thought-of-as-infallible laws. The two women had been then invited to meet the new command teams. As he shook their hands enthusiastically, Jim thought Michael Burnham might be looking for someone. There was no comment on the absence of his First, though.

Kirk spent most of his free time either with Jo-Jo or at the Academy’s Library, where he would not be bothered by people wanting to talk to the youngest Captain of the fleet. It was a quiet place, one that held a peculiar attraction for him – he did not know if it was the endless collection of ancient, real-paper books it held or the aura of mystery it seemed to exude, but it put him at peace, and it was more than he could wish for.

None of the crew had heard from Spock – it was as if he had vanished into thin air. He wouldn’t even answer to Nyota, or D’nevla for that matter. They all worried, of course, but rarely spoke about it. Jim had resolved that, if they still heard nothing by the end of the month, he was going to New Vulcan and find out what he was up to and why he seemed to have lost all contacts with the rest of the world. Neither Sarek nor Saavik were willing to share what they most certainly knew, and not for the first time Kirk cursed an entire species for such ridiculous secrecy.

It did not help that part of him still believed that Spock would somehow show up one day or the next – he hadn’t even signed his resignation request, and he planned on doing so only if it was absolutely necessary. Then he would have to find himself another First Officer… But he couldn’t even contemplate the idea that someone could ever live up to his Vulcan.

And so he waited.

* * *

Spock sat in meditation, blissfully aware of the quiet of his mind. The white robe he wore was soft and light, and the desert sun warmed his skin through it, bathing his upturned face – he had missed such heat so dearly. He closed his eyes and sighed.

He had gone to see T’Pau three weeks before, and she had been most kind to him; she was the only Healer who had even the faintest idea how to work with his unique brain and his absurd telepathy, and though it had taken him a great deal of courage to finally walk up to her and request her assistance, he couldn’t have made a better choice.

She had even interrupted her private time to see him, and had let him into her chambers, which he had visited once as a child – they were grand and austere and made him feel every bit as insignificant as when he was younger, even if this was a different building on an entirely different planet. Perhaps it was her mere presence that affected him so much.

It was true that his controls were now thin and useless, and his emotions were rampant and mercurial, and his discomfort was contagious and naked, there for everyone to see.

_“Are thou Vulcan? Or are thou Human?” T’Pau asks severely, looking down on him with steely eyes and taking in the pitiful picture he makes, with his shaking wrists and ashen face and shaggy clothes that have become far too large for his thin frame._

_Spock stares back at her defiantly, and holds his head high even though it pains him to, and there is such confusion in his thoughts that he can barely process the words she says. Nonetheless, his answer is final, his voice unwavering: “I am both, T’Pau, and I come before thee for help.”_

_For the first time ever, there is a hint of pride in his great-grandmother’s demeanour. She glides down the low staircase until she stands before him, and regards him in silence; her breathing is perfectly cadenced, in stark contrast to Spock’s laboured one. “_ Kan-bu _, what has befallen thee?” she murmurs after a while, and she seems almost maternal all of a sudden._

_The young Vulcan bows before her and recounts the tale of Ezarta’s mind-poisoning. The words come stilted from his trembling lips, as if the simple act of speaking of those terrible, terrible days is enough to bring back the terror and the agony – as if there is a way for his mind to unravel further, as if there is something inside that is still unbroken and is breaking now._

_He nearly falls to his knees, but T’Pau keeps a firm hold on him. She is a Healer and the Mother of Vulcans, and she will not let him go, for all that she has been harsh and distant and judging and at times even cruel to him she will not let go. “I shall cleanse thee of the abuse thou suffered.”_

_“I thank thee for this.”_

T’Pau had been so gracious as to not rebuke him for the mess he’d made with the t’hy’la bond; she had forbidden him from breaking it, though, and he had gotten the impression that she did not entirely approve of his choice to use Kolinahr as a way of silencing it.

He was grateful that she did not ask him why.

As he settled more comfortably into the burning sand, Spock briefly wondered how his shipmates were faring, then suppressed the thought, because he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about them, he was supposed to be severing all of his ties to the external world to become a Gol Master.

But his mind kept returning to them – to the people he cared for, to his crew and his t’hy’la and his friends and his sister, who was missing still and whom he had no means to contact, for it was forbidden. He should be emptying his mind – he had a month to do so before beginning the actual Kolinahr ritual, which would then last at least three years.

He could not believe that at nineteen he had truly thought it to be what he wanted in life; he could not quite believe he had told his mother so, his mother of all people. He had been so foolish. Now it was necessary, and for that he would carry it out and suffer through it, but it was not desired. It could never be.

It was lonely.

* * *

Bones had invited the crew over for dinner. Jim smiled faintly, sitting at one end of the table and looking over at his _family_. Ben and Hikaru Sulu had brought a nice Filipino dish they had made with the help of little Demora, which turned out not being enough for them all, but they were sharing anyway; Scotty and Chekov had contributed an assortment of the strangest pastries ever, and were busy making tiny ships out of kneaded bread; Nyota sat beside Christine, and was trying to woo her, though the young nurse did not seem to notice the attention; McCoy stared at her in disbelief, clearly wondering how she could be so blind; his eyes caught the Captain’s, and he smirked as if to say, _can you believe this?_

The kids (Joanna, Demora and Scotty’s eight-year-old nephew) sat at a tiny table of their own, with brightly coloured dishes and glasses, and were deep into what appeared to be a very serious and important discussion concerning the exact shape of magical bubbles.

The invitation had included, long before Ezarta and the mess that followed, Spock and Saavik as well. Of course, they weren’t there. Again, no one mentioned the desertion, though there might as well have been a blinking sign spelling out the Vulcan’s name for how conspicuous his absence was.

Or maybe that was just Jim. He missed him, and he was worried about him, but more than that he was angry at him because he thought he had the luxury of simply… disappearing. What kind of person severed all contacts like that, without a word? What the hell was going on through that Vulcan brain of his?

All things considered, it was a cheery evening. The food was awesome and so was the company, as Sulu pointed out. There was something different and undoubtedly special in being able to share a meal in peace, knowing they were safe on Earth – no red alerts, no unexpected ion storms, no asteroid showers to break the quiet and send them all in a frenzy.

Just dinner. A pleasant, much-needed respite from the hazards of their duties.

At eleven, when the kids were sleepy and no longer demanding his constant attention, Jim walked out into the balcony, for some air and some time alone; he stared up at the night sky, at those familiar stars he knew so well, at the barely-visible sliver of moon hanging right in front of him. A light breeze caressed his face, and he breathed in the beloved scent of spring.

“Jim, can I have a word?”

Kirk turned to see Nyota step gracefully by his side, a glass of wine in one hand and a troubled look in her eyes. “Tough luck with Christine?” he asked, grimacing in sympathy, “I never thought there was someone who could resist your charm.”

She chuckled briefly at that, and leaned against the railing. “Yeah, one day she’ll notice.”

“How long…?”

“Couple months.” She brushed off the subject with an elegant swiping gesture, and drank a sip of her wine. “I’m not here to discuss Christine.”

Jim, who up until that point had been half-grinning, sobered quickly, and crossed his arms. “You want to talk about Spock,” he said flatly.

“I’m _worried_ about him!” Uhura spoke suddenly and forcefully, glaring at him reproachfully. “I want to know why he left.”

“We had a fight.” Kirk shrugged helplessly. “And he took it as permission to return to the Colony and _do his duty_.”

“I don’t believe it,” Nyota told him plainly. She was tapping her foot against the floor impatiently, and it was evident she thought her Captain was withdrawing information. “Spock, leave _you_? There must be a reason.”

Jim bit down on his lower lip to contain his frustration. “And you don’t think I haven’t been trying to figure out what that was all these weeks?”

“You don’t _know_?” she demanded, still unconvinced, “You honestly don’t?”

When Kirk nodded his assent, she frowned deeply and fell silent. Then she seemed to come to a decision, for she set her jaw and lifted a hard gaze upon him. “Look, there’s something I should tell you. I mean, that _he_ should have told you long ago.”

Curious and trying his hardest not to be upset that Spock had confided in her and not his partner and Captain, Jim took a step towards her. He felt as if her revelation was a secret, something that needed to be whispered. “And what is that?”

“The two of you are _t’hy’la_ ,” she murmured, pronouncing the word far better than Kirk would ever hope to. Her expression was solemn -she obviously believed this to be an exceptional piece of information.

Jim’s shoulders almost slumped in dismay. “Yeah, he told me.”

She shook her head. “But he didn’t tell you what it means,” she said with absolute certainty.

The Captain thought about it, recalling the few times his Vulcan had used the word in his presence; it had been a term of endearment that he’d made out to mean something close to _beloved_ or _sweetheart_. Something associated to Jim himself. “You’re right, he didn’t,” he realised. “But he told you?”

Nyota smiled ruefully. “I am a Xenolinguist, remember? This was part of my studies.”

She offered him the glass and he took it automatically. “It’s that bad?” he wondered aloud, gulping it down like it was a shot. “Thanks.”

“ _T’hy’la_ is the most ancient, rarest Vulcan bond.” Uhura looked up at him with mixed understanding and disapproval. “A connection that goes beyond anything a human could ever imagine.” Before her Captain could reply, before he could even begin to wrap his mind around the concept, the woman went on, watching him closely. She probably expected him to freak out and interrupt, and in all honesty, he couldn’t blame her. “It’s frighteningly powerful and very, very fierce. A t’hy’la bond is not something to be taken lightly.”

“A _bond_?” Jim hissed breathlessly. Had Spock expected him to just _know_? Or had he purposefully left him in the dark? The human swallowed hard, digging his fingers into his right forearm as if to ground himself into reality. He was experiencing the rather unpleasant feeling of having been thrown into a parallel dimension.

“A bond,” Nyota calmly repeated. “That’s why I can’t believe Spock left without a reason. There _must_ a be a reason, and a serious one at that, to push a Vulcan away from their t’hy’la.” And she was so sure of her words…

“He never spoke about a bond,” Kirk spelled out slowly, trying to make her understand.

She ignored him. “It is from before Surak – a _warrior_ bond.” Her eyes were slightly narrowed, and burned; Jim knew she was reading him, knew she was aware of every little reaction, every little thing that passed across his face, perhaps even more so than him. “Some say it lasts even after death.”

“After… Listen, you must be mistaken.” Because Kirk simply refused to believe that Spock had kept such a secret from him. But then again… Was that what he had wanted to confess, in the gardens of Deneva? Was that the truth he hadn’t been able to find the nerve to share? If it was so… Why did he leave?

“I’m _not_ ,” Uhura said, hard as stone. “And neither was he. He told me you were _t’hy’la_. And that you wouldn’t want that kind of bond – that you are too independent a person to allow it.” A faint hint of accusation now passed across her face. “So did you?”

“Did I _what_?”

“Did you refuse to bond?”

“He never even asked me! I don’t even know if he wants to bond! This is the first time I’m hearing it!” Jim had to make a conscious effort to calm himself down. He took various deep breaths, keeping his eyes closed until he could produce a smile. “Look, Nyota, if he doesn’t show up in two weeks I promise I’ll pack my things and go and see him,” he murmured, vowing to give the Vulcan a stern talking to for being as tight-lipped as an Aldebaran shellmouth.

Uhura nodded, then got up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. Surprised and touched by the gesture, Kirk held her back just as tightly. “Good luck.”

* * *

The bond was quiet. In fact, since he had shielded it, it was as silent as the vastness of space. There was nothing to be heard from it. It was, to all effects, muted. Then why, why did Spock’s consciousness keep returning to it, as if to ascertain it was still there? Why couldn’t he leave it alone?

One corner of the Vulcan’s mouth curved downwards in displeasure, and his eyelids fluttered open. His mind had gained considerable stability in the past two months, thanks to extensive meditation and the practices of Kolinahr, but as it appeared it wasn’t enough. He still thought of Jim quite frequently. If he were entirely honest with himself – an impossible feat, even though he tried his best – he would recognise the fact that he simply had not stopped thinking about the human.

After all, they were _t’hy’la_.

Spock missed him.

He bent one leg so his ankle rested on the opposite knee, then stretched his back and arms forward until his forehead touched the floor; breathing slowly and evenly, he concentrated on relaxing each and every one of his muscles, and a soft feeling of well-being suffused him. After ten point seventeen minutes, he switched legs, wincing a little when the motion caused one of his upper vertebrae to pop. In the complete silence of his tiny room, the sound was deafening.

Pursing his lips to repress a sigh, the Vulcan twisted backwards so he was lying, belly-up, on the thin carpet that bore the inscriptions of Surak’s principles. He reversed the angle at which his right leg was bent, bringing his heel to press against his hip. He repeated with the left, then briefly returned to a sitting position before performing a nearly perfect split, elbows down and spine gracefully curved.

Spock had engaged in such exercises frequently on the Enterprise, though only occasionally in the presence of Jim. The human had proved to be most distracting, and the Vulcan hadn’t even gotten through half of his routine that Kirk had already found a different, more pleasurable activity with which they could occupy their time.

He could almost feel his t’hy’la’s scorching-hot fingertips run from the nape of his neck all the way down to the small of his back… And how he would lean over, digging both hands on his shoulders for support, and his breath would ghost, warm and moist, over the tip of his ear… And how he would kiss his jaw fleetingly and then pull away, so Spock could choose whether to follow him for more or return to his warm-up… But of course, there was no question…

A fierce blush stole its way across his cheeks and the Vulcan jumped to his feet, embarrassed and unsettled. Did he really have that little control?

In his mind, the bond was weeping with longing. Spock willed it to quiet, and succeeded at subduing it with considerable effort; he rubbed at his temples in an attempt at lessening his strain, and let his weight rest against the wall made of reddish volcanic stone. The colour was soothing, though not entirely familiar: on his home planet, it would have been richer, darker, bordering on black here and there.

So lost he was in his seemingly disorganised musings that he almost did not hear the faint knock at his door. Composing his expression into one of polite neutrality, he ordered it open, bowing when he saw the High Priestess standing before him.

“Greetings,” he murmured, projecting nothing but his profound respect for her.

The ancient Vulcan – as old as T’Pau, if not older – nodded in recognition, and one corner of her mouth moved almost invisibly. “Spock-an. There is a call for you,” she said, quick and to the point.

Confused, because contacts with the outside world were extremely discouraged, if not outright forbidden, the younger Vulcan followed her silently, knowing better by now than to ask questions. He categorically refused to let himself hope Jim had somehow found it in him to forgive him.

The woman seemed to sense his concern, and her stony demeanour gentled, the deep lines carved on her dark skin by the passing of decades softening infinitesimally as she looked at him. “It is your human sister,” she explained, “You are permitted to speak to her by virtue of the fact that she was missing in action.”

For the first time in fifty-four point eleven days, Spock felt a surge of elation curse through him – Michael was alive and well enough to have requested to see him. He let that sink in for a long, blissful minute. Michael was alive. She was alive. She was safe.

The Priestess showed him into a small room where the spartan furnishing allowed for a desk, a chair and a blinking computer. “She is on hold,” the woman told him before gliding away. The Vulcan watched her leave, ordered the doors locked, and sat by the screen, turning it on with great anticipation.

“Michael,” he breathed, fixing his stare on the smiling face of his long-lost sister. “It does me well to see you.”

Michael looked much healthier and happier than how she’d been when Sarek had shipped her away on the Shenzou. It was as if she’d finally made peace with her nature – despite her Vulcan upbringing, she glowed with the force of her human emotions. “Spock! How are you?”

The half-blood moved closer to the screen, for as futile as such an action was, and cocked his head to the side, regarding her changed appearance: she had let her hair grow curly, and it was cut in a way that suited her delicate features. “It is I who should be asking that question, _ko-kai_.”

“I’m great, Spock, I’m great,” she assured him, beautifully controlled in a new, special way. She had been his role model for quite some time, and he couldn’t help but watch her in silent awe. A million queries were filling his mind – where had she been? What had she discovered? How had she grown so much? What made her so bright and so alive, when she had been despondent and irritable? How had she managed to come back?

While he pondered which question to pose first, Michael steepled her fingers and narrowed her eyes at him. “Spock, what are you doing?” she demanded.

“Specify.”

“You left Starfleet,” she said, eyes flashing; Spock could read the worry in her gaze, a hard light that anyone else would have probably mistaken for anger or reproach. And so he listened quietly, reacquainting himself with the sound of her voice. “ _Why_? I expected you to _be_ there when we landed in San Francisco Bay. And yet you weren’t even on _Earth_.” Michael shook her head a little. She turned her back on him when a loud crashing noise came from somewhere inside the impersonal quarters Starfleet had given her. Then she sighed indulgently and re-focused her attention on her brother. “What are you doing on New Vulcan, Spock? What are you trying to prove?”

“My mind was unsettled. I required healing,” Spock explained curtly.

“It would have sufficed to see a Healer,” she very reasonably objected. “Why Kolinahr? It’s just not right for you.”

Somehow, it wasn’t nearly as angering hearing this from her as it had been from their father. “It is… complicated,” he whispered, “Circumstances made it so that Starfleet was not a viable option anymore.”

Michael frowned deeply. “How so? From what I’ve seen of him, your Captain is a fine man. Everyone wants to serve under him.”

Spock swallowed. He trusted his sister implicitly, and perhaps she was the only one who could even begin to understand him if he explained his present position, but he was ashamed. “Yes. I am aware.”

“Then what pushed you to this?” she insisted, trying to meet his fleeing gaze. “I know you love Starfleet. I know you belong there. Why give it up?”

The Vulcan took a deep breath that tasted like incense, glanced around the room that held nothing of the magnificent greatness of the ancient buildings of Gol, and felt a sickening sense of helplessness wash over him. “I have done something terrible, Michael,” he confessed softly, still refusing to look at her.

“And what would that be?” she asked, equally gentle.

“I have bonded my Captain to me without his permission,” Spock said, and it was liberating in a sense, to speak aloud of his shame. “We are t’hy’la, but that is no excuse…”

Michael mouthed the pre-Surakian word in marvelling surprise. “Does he know? Was he…” She shivered, “Repulsed?”

“I did not… mean to bond us,” the Vulcan haltingly explained, “He and I… We were involved. He agreed to a meld, my mind was unstable, and I believe a link was forming already, I…” He sighed openly. “I did not tell him.”

“So he doesn’t know?” She appeared to be looking for some sort of silver lining, for her voice held a hint of cheerfulness when she said: “Spock, you shouldn’t have left! How can you be sure he…”

“He knows now,” Spock dejectedly muttered, “I left him a letter, along with my resignation papers. He… has yet to reply, so I assume…”

Michael crossed her arms. “You’re not even sure that he read it!” she cried. A moment passed in which there was only silence, then the human cocked her head to the side; it was clear she was concocting a plan. The Vulcan regretted at once having let her in on his secret: she’d always had a tendency to meddle in his personal affairs, claiming it was her duty as ‘older sister’…

“I’m going to speak with him. He’s always at the Academy, so it won’t be hard to catch him unguarded.”

“Michael, please, do not…”

She interrupted him before he could even begin to list the many reasons why such a thing should not be attempted. “Spock, you realise you can’t go forth with this, right?” she asked. Then, without waiting for an answer: “I have to go now, the High Priestess gave me ten minutes and we’re already past fifteen!”

She stood, and her hand passed in front of the camera before she leaned down again. “Spock?”

“Yes, Michael?”

“You know I love you, don’t you?” she murmured, quite seriously.

The Vulcan smiled gently at his sister, warmed by her words and the intensity of her dark eyes. “Yes. As I do you.”

“Good.” And with that, Michael was gone.

* * *

Jim sat in a secluded corner of the library, a book in one hand and a Padd in the other, trying as best as he could to translate the elegant Vulcan script into something vaguely resembling Standard. That language was absurd – especially in its written manifestation, that left much to the imagination since apparently things like prepositions and punctuation were not worth recording.

A cough escaped him, but he swallowed it down. Eight days before, Joanna had gotten the flu; McCoy had had to fly off to space because a medical emergency had arisen in the nearest terran colony, and shore leave or not he wasn’t going to sit idly by and let others worry about it. This meant he had entrusted his daughter to Kirk, who had decided he would postpone his trip to New Vulcan to after his friend came back. But then he, too, had fallen ill, and upon his return Bones had found he had to deal with two whiny patients instead of one.

And of course Jim had no intention to leave before the ailment was completely out of his system. He coughed again, and cursed softly under his breath.

“Captain Kirk? If I may have a word?”

His head snapped up from where he was nearly buried inside the book, and he felt a sliver of embarrassment – he should have been more aware of his surroundings. Then his eyes widened when he saw who was requesting his company. “Commander Burnham!” Kirk got to his feet at once, extending his hand to the woman standing calmly at his side. “I’m honoured.”

Her hold was delicate, almost tentative, as if she wasn’t used to such a gesture. “Perhaps we should relocate elsewhere,” she prompted, and without waiting for an answer, she led him out of the Library and into the warm sun of late April.

“What can I do for you?” Jim asked, curious as to why she would seek him out specifically.

Michael raised an eyebrow at him. The expression was so familiar it bordered on disquieting. “So he didn’t tell you, did he?” she speculated, looking amused at his confusion. “Obviously, I’m here for my brother, who is an idiot. Adorable, yes, but an idiot.”

The starship Captain blinked, and had to make a conscious effort to prevent his mouth from popping open. “Brother?” he repeated, stammering, “Who… Who’s…?”

She seemed to take pity on him. “Spock,” she said, hiding the _who else_ behind a light smirk that closely resembled a Vulcan’s. “I am Sarek’s ward and Spock’s older sister.”

Kirk sat down on one of the low walls surrounding the open field area, needing the support. “Son of a…” he mouthed, bringing a hand to his forehead. “I’m gonna _kill_ him!”

“Do not blame him for not telling,” Michael told him gently, sitting next to him in one swift, fluid motion. “It is unusual for Vulcans to speak of such private matters.” She did not look especially bothered by the fact that her own brother hadn’t thought to mention her in more than six years of acquaintance.

“Even with their t’hy’la?” Jim objected sternly, unwilling to justify his Vulcan First Officer – ex First Officer? – another time. “I don’t think so.”

Burnham’s eyes narrowed, and her demeanour went suddenly several degrees colder. “I gather you know, then,” she said stiffly.

“Know _what_?”

She offered him a supremely unimpressed look. “That you are bonded.”

Jim froze. He felt as if all the blood had left his body – as if everything in him had stilled. “We’re what now?” he breathed, dumbstruck. Wondering if it was possible to be detached from one’s own mind, the Captain pressed his palms hard against his temples. _What? What? What?_

_Bonded?_

_As in, Vulcan married?_

_As in, mental link?_

_As in…_

_What the hell?_

_Bonded?_

Exercising his uncanny ability at compartmentalising, Kirk pushed those thoughts away to be analysed later, and returned his attention to Spock’s sister, who was now regarding him with vague surprise.

“If you do not know, then it is not my place to tell you,” she murmured, apparently regretting having made such a bold revelation, “I suggest you read the letter my brother left you attached to his resignation papers. You have yet to sign them, haven’t you? Perhaps you might reconsider.”

Frowning, Jim reached for his Padd, then decided against it; he would much rather be alone when he read _that_. Whatever it was. “Letter. Okay. Got it. Thanks for the tip.” He was well aware he sounded weird, possibly hysterical.

“I will be departing for New Vulcan in two point five days,” Michael informed him placidly, “Sarek awaits me. You are welcome to join me; Spock would be… happy… to see you.”

She got up as if to leave, thinking the conversation over, but Kirk followed her, and grasped her elbow to stop her: “See me?” he repeated, “Wait, you _spoke_ to him? Where is he? Is he alright?”

The questions rushed spontaneously to his lips, and the soul-deep worry he was clearly displaying melted away what was left of Burnham’s severe attitude. She sighed. “I do not believe _alright_ would qualify as a description for my brother’s present state.”

It was obvious she had inherited the very Vulcan habit of dancing her way around uncomfortable answers. Well, Kirk hadn’t taken those extra courses in alien cultures and mannerisms for nothing. “ _Why_ can’t we contact him?” he demanded, brief and specific.

Michael cocked her head to the side, leaving Jim to wonder just how similar she and Spock were. “He did not say? He decided to undergo Kolinahr.”

Before the Captain could reply, she shook her head. “He called it a _necessity_ , not a decision. I believe you will find it most easy to convince him to abandon the attempt. If you so choose.”

Kirk nodded, lost for words.

“I look forward to seeing you on the shuttle to the colony,” she said. “Live long and prosper, Captain Kirk.”

“Peace and long life,” Jim hollowly replied. As he watched her walk away briskly, he wondered why he wasn’t feeling more annoyed by her interference. But maybe he was just too tired.

* * *

_T’hy’la,_

_I apologise for not having told you this in person; I know my limits, and I know they are far more difficult to overcome than what you give me credit for. I believe I have let you down yet again, but of course you must be used to it by now._

_I am sorry._

_I confess I have never fully understood you, or your needs, though I have tried to meet them. Please do not think I am leaving because of a fault of yours, or because I have ceased to care about you, as many others in your life have done. Such is not the truth._

_In light of the past events and the persisting ailment of my mind, I find it necessary to pay a visit to T’Pau, and ask that she heal me. I believe the last thing you require at the moment is to deal with yet another problem I have caused. You have enough as it is. I do wish I could be of assistance to you. Did I seem insensitive to what you have been through? I apologise. I was not. I could not be._

_If, after reading this, you choose to see me again, I will await you on New Vulcan; if not, I will respect your decision, and make it so that you will never have to face any discomfort brought by my mistake._

_You do not know, by my own doing, of the true meaning of t’hy’la: it is a mating bond of the strongest kind, one that can form spontaneously and without the aid of Healer; it is a bond that goes above and beyond anything else in the life of a Vulcan. It is said, and I firmly believe, that not even death can dissolve it completely._

_Such is the link that bonds us now._

_I am unsure as to what consolation this could be, but it was not my intention to create one without your explicit consent; had my mind been clearer, I would perhaps have noticed the process in time to halt it or delay it. However, it has not been so. The t’hy’la bond exists. I cherish it as I do you._

_The choice is, nonetheless, yours. If you wish it, T’Pau can break it; if you wish it, it can be kept muted forever; rest assured that I am, at all times, shielding your mind from mine – I would never invade your privacy._

_I have left my resignation papers attached; sign them, and I will know not to seek you out again. It is your right as my t’hy’la and bondmate to demand this. Nothing could bring me more joy than to call you mine, but at this point it is evident that the contrary is not true: I am not a suitable partner to you, and it was wrong of me to request that you share your life with me._

_I will not ask for your forgiveness because that is something I most definitely do not deserve. I ask, however, that you remember I am forever grateful for all you have given me, and that I love you as I will no other._

_I have been, and always shall be_

_Yours,_

_Spock_

* * *

“I want you to let me in.”

Kirk stood defiantly in front of T’Pau, head held high and back straight, unheeding of the elevated temperature of the planet and the aching of his fatigued limbs. “Let me in, T’Pau,” he growled, panting a little in the too-thin air.

The ancient matriarch watched him with supreme indifference barely touched by a hint of amused curiosity; leaning slightly on her refined stick, she listened to him, deriding his emotionality with her immobile composure. “It is not allowed.”

“I want to see him,” the human insisted, stepping forward as if he had no care for propriety, no care at all. She could see this was true in the burning light of feeling that poured from his eyes and mind.

“Spock has made a decision. He must now face its consequences,” she reminded him sternly, wondering at his youth and the passion it flaunted. There had been a time, more than two centuries before, when she had been as young and passionate as he was now, stubborn in defending her own individuality, the privilege and right of choosing for herself.

“We both know he doesn’t belong there any more than I do!” countered Jim, pointing his finger at T’Pau as if calling her out. The desert sun shone upon him, making his skin glow, and the vibrant blue of his expressive eyes stood out even to a Vulcan whose vision was more suited for the tones of red, yellow, green. “Let me in.”

She shook her head infinitesimally. It would not do to give him such freedom upon their sacred customs. “My Great-grandson has sworn to dedicate at least three years of his life to the Kolinahr ritual.”

A hiss escaped Kirk, and it was harsh and dismissive at the same time. “I don’t think you understand my point, ma’am,” he heatedly said, “You don’t get a say in Spock’s personal life! Not after all you and your High Council have put him through. You owe him your lives.”

At that, T’Pau merely raised an eyebrow, more than a little intrigued at having discovered that Spock, for all his shortcomings, had managed to secure the loyalty of so impressive a human. “And you, James Kirk, believe yourself fit to cater to the needs of a half-Vulcan such as he is?” she asked.

“I am t’hy’la to him,” Jim announced without a hint of hesitation; he almost radiated with the pride of it – surely it appeared so through the eyes of a Healer who had learned to watch with her mind also. “Of course I am _fit_. I am permitted this. It is my _right_.”

“So it is,” T’Pau graciously agreed. Closing the distance between them, she raised a hand to his face, and waited for a permission that did not come. “Your thoughts, give them to me.”

“ _Why_?” Kirk questioned, setting his jaw in evident distrust.

The matriarch’s lips curved upwards by a millimetre or so. “I require proof as to the honesty of your intentions.”

“My intentions are honest, ma’am, I assure you,” the human said, “But I am no Vulcan. My mind is mine, and I am under no obligation to share it with you.”

She lowered her hand, and nodded. “Very well. You may go.” Then, before he could rush to the tall, unforgiving doors leading to the inside of the temple, she called him back, spoke again: “You do understand that once you make this choice, there is no undoing it. A t’hy’la bond requires the highest level of commitment, and cannot be broken.”

Jim’s smile was as bright as the desert sand at noon. “Yes, ma’am, I understand,” he happily told her, “It’s what I’m counting on.”

T’Pau sighed, feeling a surge of very logical content at that, and inwardly smiled. “May Surak be with you,” she murmured, as close to well-wishing as she would ever get.

He did not hear, but it was excusable.

She had never thought it possible that she would witness a t’hy’la bond in its birth, and as she quietly returned to her own chambers, she wondered at the magnificent series of coincidences and events that had led to its forming.

It was truly fascinating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minus one chapter to the end of part two! Spoiler: it's fluff. I think they -we- deserved it after all this mayhem and angst fest...   
> Thank you all so much for sticking with me through this! Can you believe I started the story in October 2016 ? It's now February 2018 and I still have such a long way to go! I hope I'll make it, sooner or later!
> 
> Please, leave a comment if you enjoyed? A trace of your presence? I would love it!!


	8. Forgiven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Vulcan’s hands shook as he gazed upon his t’hy’la, eyes wide and transparent as the reality of his presence began to sink in – it was… he was there. He had come. Could it be… was he… forgiven? Oh, he hoped so. “You are…”
> 
> “Here.” Kirk nodded, and reached out to gently brush his fingers over the white fabric of his thin robe, tracing the patterns woven around the shoulder, all the way to his neck. He felt the half-blood shiver under his touch, and it was wonderful. “To collect you. If you want.”
> 
> The answer came in the form of his name, spoken slowly, in reverence, like a prayer, a word which held the weight of love and gratitude that poured into the warm air, making it brighter still. “Jim…”
> 
> Jim smiled then, a small, infinitely tender smile, one that softened the lines of his face and let his eyes melt, shimmering faintly. “I’m sorry, baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And! With this the second part is over! Sweet sweet bonding, a little Saavik in the mix, family and domesticity! 
> 
> Enjoy!

_**8** _

_**Forgiven** _

 

 

The hall was bathed in sunlight – Jim had the fleeting sensation of having stepped inside a fire, or an erupting volcano: everything was golden and gleaming and for a moment shapes and figures merged, trembling as if in a mirage. It was magnificent. Vulcan women and men walked quietly through the light, immersed in contemplative silence or whispering softly in groups of two or three, while others sat by the walls in deep meditation.

Kirk’s eyes roamed the area as he wondered if it was alright for him to ask for directions, or even if any of the attendants knew about his beloved. There were many doors, and all of them were closed… He whirled around, awed, confused and running on nerves alone. Sweat beaded down his forehead and neck, and he let out a faint cough. Nobody seemed to be paying him much mind…

“Jim?” The voice was gentle, barely a murmur, easily lost. The human turned again, looking…

“Jim!”

And then, just like that, Spock was standing beside him – he’d been so swift in his motions that they had gone entirely lost on the Starship Captain, who startled and let out a breathless gasp at the sudden sight of him. For nearly a minute, they simply stared at each other in disbelief.

The Vulcan’s hands shook as he gazed upon his t’hy’la, eyes wide and transparent as the reality of his presence began to sink in – it was… he was there. He had come. Could it be… was he… forgiven? Oh, he hoped so. “You are…”

“Here.” Kirk nodded, and reached out to gently brush his fingers over the white fabric of his thin robe, tracing the patterns woven around the shoulder, all the way to his neck. He felt the half-blood shiver under his touch, and it was wonderful. “To collect you. If you want.”

The answer came in the form of his name, spoken slowly, in reverence, like a prayer, a word which held the weight of love and gratitude that poured into the warm air, making it brighter still. “Jim…”

Jim smiled then, a small, infinitely tender smile, one that softened the lines of his face and let his eyes melt, shimmering faintly. “I’m sorry, baby.”

Not trusting himself enough to do anything other than nod, Spock kept his silence; he fell into the human’s embrace out of instinct and need, heedless of those who might be watching, and as his t’hy’la’s arms found their rightful place around his hips and he was held close, he let his lips curve upwards, a sliver of expression crossing his face in response to the joy that was raging through him.

The gross indecency of that public smile of his, displayed for all the world to see right in the middle of would-be Gol, was carefully set aside as Spock allowed himself the luxury of feeling. Feeling the texture of Jim’s sweaty hair beneath his fingers; feeling the warmth emanating from his body, every line, every curve of it now pressed against his own; feeling his scent, so good, so good, cloud his senses and bring a shower of relief to wash across his veins; feeling his happiness, because he was happy, so happy, so happy…

Kirk broke into a breathless laugh, and pulled the Vulcan to himself, cradling his head against his own shoulder; it was amazing to have him in his arms again. “I missed you,” he told him, lips grazing the tip of his left ear. “Come back with me?” he asked, squeezing him a little tighter before he finally let go.

“Yes.” Spock stepped back just enough that they could walk. “Yes.”

Jim kept a loose hold around his wrist; after a moment of consideration, the half-blood intertwined their fingers.

“Michael told me where you were,” the human explained as they stepped out of the doors and into the desert.

“She did?”

“Yeah. And your father lent me his car, so I’m driving.”

They returned home to find a welcome committee waiting for them in the living room; any hope Kirk might have had to sneak away so they could talk alone and in peace vanished entirely as he glanced at little Saavik’s resentful expression. He shrugged a little and lightly pressed his hand on the small of Spock’s back, pushing him forward. “I almost forgot!” he said, watching him closely because he wouldn’t miss his reaction for all the riches of the universe, “Your sister’s here!”

The First Officer blinked twice, and stared, astonished and filled with disbelief, at the woman who had rushed to stand in front of him. “Michael!”

She smiled brightly at him, and raised her fingers so she could touch the very tips of his with her own. She was so different. More human than Spock remembered – with wet eyes and trembling mouth and that air of constant amazement at life that only survivors could know. And her mind was not shielded, instead it spilled fondness and appreciation into the spaces between them, as it had so long before, when they were children. “Hey, Spock.”  

Michael threw her arms around him and Spock lifted her off the floor, and she was so warm and so real and so _there_ – alive, returned, after nearly a decade of mourning her loss, and she was chuckling loudly, and her off-duty clothes were not Vulcan in fashion but they suited her because of it…

“Spock, you’ve grown so much!” She let her legs dangle nearly a foot in the air, and pulled away enough to stare at her brother’s gaunt face. “But you’re still my little _sa-kai_.”

He set her down, then, and together they went to sit on the sofa, Spock to the left and Michael to the right of Saavik; the child shot the half-human a dirty look and scooted away from him, evidently holding quite the grudge. It was also possible that she could be jealous, all things considered.

“I apologise for leaving as I did, kan-bu,” the scientist murmured honestly, “It shall not happen again. I promise.”

Jim laughed quietly to himself. A bittersweet string of loss and regret made its way across his mind as he listened to the two siblings’ affectionate bickering and to Saavik’s half-hearted attempts at mediating, but he suppressed it quickly. He was happy for Spock and his family – they had all been through so much, and they deserved this, deserved their time together, even if - _because_ \- it came after far too many struggles.

Sam’s loss was still fresh in his heart and it still hurt, of course. It was an ache that stayed with him constantly, and overwhelmed him when he least expected. Somehow, seeing Spock’s contentment soothed it, though, as if it reminded him that good things would come – that he could exist with this pain and live through it and find his peace again.

“I would like to thank you, Captain.”

Kirk jumped from his place leaning against the wall, and promptly straightened his back to settle a confused look on his t’hy’la’s father. “Uh?” was his very eloquent response.

Sarek merely cocked his head to the side, and patiently repeated: “I wish to thank you for what you have done for my son. Not many people have bestowed such kindness and acceptance upon him.”

Jim bit his lower lip. “There is no need to thank me. He deserves so much more.”

The Vulcan Ambassador seemed taken aback by this adamant statement of his, but he nodded gravely at him and his gaze softened infinitesimally. “That is true. However, you have saved his life and brought him serenity. It is no small a challenge with a mind such as his.”

“Yes,” Kirk easily agreed, shrugging a little. “He’s the sweetest soul I have ever known. And I owe him my life a dozen times over.”

“So you do.”

Spock looked up at him then, and his eyes were soft and loving and fierce, and Jim beamed in response, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the desert sun engulf him completely. “Come sit by my side, _k’diwa_?”

Yes, they had much to discuss. Potentially life-changing decisions had to be made. But they could wait awhile. “Always.”

* * *

It was only late into the night that they finally were alone, standing by the closed door inside Spock’s bedroom. The window was open, the curtains drawn, and light from the two orbiting satellites streamed in, painting patterns onto the bare furniture.

“I just sent a message to the crew group chat,” Jim said matter-of-factly, crossing the wide space so he could set his Padd on the bedside table. “Uhura wants to kill you.”

The Vulcan followed him by the bed, and for a few tense seconds they merely stood there, watching each other, both equally unwilling to initiate so deep a discussion as the one that was warranted, but feeling the need to anyway. “Indeed?”

“Yeah.” Kirk figured he might as well begin, at that point; after all, Spock had already spilled his heart out in that absurd letter of his, whereas the Captain had yet to speak his mind. Of course, his mere presence on the Colony was a clear answer if there ever was one, but still… “What possessed you to ignore all of her messages?” he asked, threading carefully around the subject. “I mean, I can understand _mine_ , but…”

Spock shook his head gently, eyes warm and sorrowful. He took one step closer to the human, and slowly, deliberately, he raised his hand so it hovered between them. Then he stilled. “My mind’s conditions were deteriorating,” he explained, hiding nothing, because how could he? This was _Jim_ , and he had come for him, and there would be no repeating his foolish mistake of before. He would trust his t’hy’la with his truths. “I was trapped in, I believe you might call it, an awful mental place.”

Smiling, Kirk filled those few centimetres that separated them to press a delicate, loving touch to the Vulcan’s first and middle fingers. A meaningful gesture, this ozh’esta he bestowed upon his beloved, and his eyelids fluttered shut as their minds met briefly across it. “And now you’re not anymore?” he whispered.

“No. My mind has fully healed,” Spock murmured, watching the way the human’s hand was trailing up his wrist and then his elbow and then his shoulder… Tiny measured motions that made his skin light up and tingle with the promise of _more_. “T’Pau has helped me cleanse it, and meditation has done the rest.”

When he reached the erratic thrum of his heart, Jim stopped, and leaned in to place his mouth upon his neck. The half-blood smelled of sand and sunshine, and it was delicious. “I’m glad,” the Captain whispered to the hollow of his throat. Spock clutched at his hips for balance and support, but also because he _could_.

“Michael told me about the letter,” Kirk added after he had managed to detach his lips from the Vulcan. “I hadn’t read it – I saw the damn resignation papers and just sort of… broke the Padd. Never opened the file again.” He straightened his back so he could stare his beloved in the eyes, and said firmly: “If I had known, I would have come at once.”

Spock laid a kiss on his forehead in response. “ _I_ should have spoken to you about the bond, Jim,” he murmured, nuzzling at his golden hair. “The fault is mine. _I_ am the telepath.”

The human hummed under his breath, and his lips curved in a tender smile. “So we’re bonded now, uh? That’s great.”

He slipped his fingers under the first layer of the Vulcan’s robes and carefully peeled it down his shoulders, watching it fall on the floor; it pooled at his feet, and Spock stepped out of it and into the circle of his arms. “Yes,” he said very seriously. “It is.”

By then, Jim was tracing soothing circles on his lower back, and the half-blood let himself be coaxed gently onto the bed, smiling when his Captain dropped bodily upon him and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I love you,” he breathed into his mouth, “ _Taluhk nash-ve k’du_.”

Spock’s eyes drifted close, and he wondered distantly how it was that the human’s Vulcan was this flawless. The thought vanished as soon as their hands met above the pillow; he blindly reached up so he could thread his free fingers in the light material of the desert-suited shirt Kirk wore, then tilted his head up and leaned in to deepen the kiss, but suddenly Jim pulled away.

The Vulcan frowned a little and wanted to protest, but something in his t’hy’la’s gaze stole the words from his mouth and he fell silent.

“Open the bond, Spock,” Kirk almost demanded. When no immediate answer came forth, he insisted: “Lift the shield. I want to _feel_ it.”

Feeling a little dizzy at the suddenness of the request, Spock did as he was told, and the immediate relief of finally unshielding had him melt into the sheets. The human seemed to catch on to this, too, and perhaps the Vulcan’s sense of well-being was affecting him because he relaxed into his embrace, laying his full weight on him. The scientist welcomed it – it was, after all, negligible to him – and he crossed his arms around his broad shoulders, lightly pulling at his spiky hair, which, he noted in passing, had grown a little in their months of separation. He focused on their renewed connection, rejoicing in his bondmate’s mental presence and taking special pride in having the privilege of tasting his emotions and showing him his own in return.

His _bondmate_. _Telsu_. _T’hy’la_.

Jim’s mouth popped open, and for a moment he stared at the Vulcan in dumb surprise, at the elegant arch of his neck and what little of his face he could see. He felt as if hot liquid had been poured directly inside his brain, and his body clearly did not know how to react to that strange sensation – an irrational desire to hide battled with elation and curiosity and _want_ , and this jumble of conflicting emotions had him reeling in a matter of seconds.

It was… different than a meld; definitely less invasive, though far, far more intense. A foreign consciousness had come to life into his mind, and he was suddenly overwhelmed by a myriad of new stimuli. The sense of _Spock_ made its way inside him, and he was aware of how happy the Vulcan was, of how warm and soothing Jim’s skin felt against his, of how pleasant and exotic his scent, of how precious and rare and adored he was, of how he still could not quite believe this was real…

After the initial shock, Kirk – ever the genius – found the means to navigate this powerful link they shared, and it was _glorious_. He nudged playfully at his beloved’s mind, delighting in his surprised contentment at that, then pushed himself up enough that he could kiss him again, more forcefully this time.

Spock wound his arms around him and in his mind – in their joined minds – he swore this time he would never let go.

* * *

They laid on the bed side by side, each smiling at the other in their own special way, and were silent for a long time. The bond stretched strong between them, brimming with light and spreading a general sense of satisfied indolence, and the minutes flowed slow and unhurried as they shared the occasional soft kiss or gentle caress.

Jim was tracing his fingers slowly up and down the Vulcan’s arm, drawing an invisible path on his pale skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. Then he spread his hand over his ribcage, and Spock felt him tap his thumb twice over the slightly jutting bones. “And also way too thin,” the human said with a frown. “Maybe I should go get you some more food.”

He pushed himself up as if making to leave, but the Vulcan stretched immediately and grasped his wrist, pulling him back down. “Don’t,” he told him, “It can wait. It can wait until morning.”

Kirk’s eyes were heavy with concern, and he was more than ready to fight him on that. “But you…”

Spock shook his head. “Please, _t’hy’la_. Stay.”

Sighing, Jim returned to his rightful place, and his beloved draped himself all around him, nestling his face in the hollow beneath his collarbone. Mollified, the human began to stroke his silken hair.

“I’m very sorry for what I told you on Deneva,” he whispered in his ear after a while, “I was in pain but that’s no excuse. You have to know I never _meant_ for you to leave. Not in the forever kind of way. I was…”

“I never thought you did, Jim,” Spock reassured him, never shifting from his place. Under his fingers, the human could almost feel him _vibrating_. His voice had turned velvety, like warm honey, and the words seemed to be much more deliberate than usual, close to slurred but not quite. “I was afraid.”

“That I wouldn’t want the bond?” Kirk asked, squeezing him a little tighter.

“And that you would not trust me anymore.”

A chuckle escaped the human then, and he pressed a smacking kiss on his forehead. “Oh, Spock. You’ve never been more wrong in your life.”

“I am aware. And I am also grateful for it.” The Vulcan stretched, and his whole body tensed under Jim’s hold, then he slumped back into his embrace.

“If you could only see yourself, the way you are, my love,” the Captain said, sliding up into the pillow and forcing Spock into a half-sitting position as well. “That stuff you wrote in your letter… None of it is true, do you understand? None. You’ve never, ever disappointed me. Not ever.”

The Vulcan looked more than a little taken aback at the abrupt turn he had given the conversation, and he straightened his back. The human cupped his face into his hands and went on undeterred: “I’m constantly amazed by you – by how kind you are, and how gentle, and so damn intelligent and fucking brilliant – Spock, you have no idea. It’s my fault for not telling you enough.”

Spock blushed – Jim could feel his cheeks heating between his palms – and parted his lips, probably wanting very much to refuse all that praise, but Kirk wasn’t going to give him the opportunity: “You’re so good, Spock. So compassionate. And you do understand me, baby. More than anyone else. Probably more than I understand myself at times.”

“Jim, I do not think…”

“I want you in my life, and I want you always…” He made a pause, frowned, and tilted his head so he could look at the black ceiling. “I figure what I’m trying to say is… come to Earth with me. Come back to the _Enterprise_. They’ll give us another five-year mission, and I can’t – I don’t want to – do this without you.”

Spock’s surprise filtered through across the bond. “Of course I will return with you, Jim,” he said, as if it was a given. He moved to settle on his lap, and placed the lightest kiss on his lips, like a secret, or a gift, or a confession. “Where you are I belong.”

Jim beamed happily, and twisted into the bed so he could grab hold of his Padd. “Alright, then, so I’m taking these resignation papers and throwing them in the bin, okay?” he playfully asked, rubbing his index finger on the touch-screen so the tiny icon danced wildly against the background. It made a satisfying sound when he finally dropped it into the stylised bin. “There, they’re gone now. Please don’t make me read that stuff again.”

The Vulcan kissed him one more time, and pulled away enough to promise: “Never again.”

Then they were lost in each other.

* * *

Spock sat with Michael in the courtyard, looking up at the white-hot sky with a pensive expression on his face. She was sprawled on a bench with her back against his left side and her legs stretched in front of her; when he saw her tilt her head at an impossible angle to meet his gaze, the hint of a smile passed over his lips.

“Tell me about the _Shenzou_ ,” he prompted after a few minutes of relaxed silence. “You did make friends, I hope? Other than the Captain?”

Michael grinned. “I made some.”

“What about the Kelpien Science Officer? Lieutenant Saru?” he teased, remembering her earlier dislike of him. “Have you befriended him?”

The human let out a hearty laugh at that, throwing her head back to bump against his shoulder. “I would die for him, but I can’t stand his guts.”

“I can understand this,” the scientist said lightly, “I share a similar relationship with the _Enterprise_ ’s Chief Medical Officer.”

Once again they fell quiet, simply enjoying each other’s presence. They had easily slipped back into a pattern long in disuse, and it was comforting to know that no matter what the universe threw at them, they would always find a place to simply… be.  

“How are you holding up?” his sister asked softly.

The Vulcan arched an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

She huffed. “You _know_ , with Vulcan and the Colony…”

“I have had years to adapt to the fact,” Spock reminded her gently, “I should be inquiring this of you.”

“I’m fine,” Michael said curtly. Her human nature notwithstanding, she had always been the most unwilling to discuss feelings in the entire family. “Just really grateful that you and Sarek are alive.”

Deciding to let the subject drop, the scientist merely nodded, and traced a delicate touch on her shoulder. She turned around, straddling the bench so she could face him, and her hands fell on his knees. When they were children, this discreet, almost casual gesture stood for a hug, a request for attention; to have her repeat it now, after all those years and the changes that had forced them apart… It brought to life bittersweet memories. “What is troubling you, Michael?”

“It’s just… I’ve been wondering.” She made a pause, drew in a deep breath. “Why did we never bond, Spock?”

Caught absolutely by surprise by this, the Vulcan stared.

“You share a familial bond with Sarek, and Sybok, and now Saavik as well,” Michael went on, kicking her legs in the air in a seemingly unconscious motion. “You had one with Amanda too. But why not me?”

Spock took a few moments before answering. “Familial bonds form immediately after birth,” he quietly explained. “Bonding with you would have required a mind-meld at the very least, and as you are well aware, neither humans nor Vulcans tolerate the touch of my mind. I believe I simply… did not wish to impose.”

Michael cocked her head to the side and cupped her hand on his cheek; her black eyes were wide and earnest when she said: “That’s stupid, Spock.” He very nearly chuckled, and she smirked in response, before she once again levelled a serious gaze upon him. “When I was lost in space, I knew Sarek was alive; I felt it. And Sybok too, wherever he is. But you… You could have been _dead_. You could have been dead and I was so worried!”

Spock’s expression softened. Under the light of the desert sun, with the scent of incense hanging heavy in the air, he suddenly thought that Michael reminded him a lot of his mother – and it wasn’t just the fact that she wore a veil around her hair as protection from the heat. There was something in the way she held herself, in this newfound steadiness that defined her, in the unabashed strength of character she projected… She had grown.

“If you wish it, we can bond,” he offered.

“Yes,” Michael said, “I don’t want to lose you again, _sa-kai_.”

* * *

The sound of a motorcycle pulling in drew them back into the house, and they got in in time to witness a very ruffled and dirtied Jim exchange a complicated version of a human secret handshake – minus the hand part – with a very ruffled and dirtied Saavik. Sarek was watching with an expression of mild disgust painted on his stony face.

As soon as he caught Spock’s eyes, the Captain flew to him, smiling brightly. “Hi, there, baby,” he greeted happily, “Missed me?”

“Incommensurably,” the Vulcan quipped, taking a step back when his bondmate attempted to throw an arm around him. “Perhaps you might wish to take a shower first,” he admonished.

Never one to make things easy, Kirk walked up into his personal space, stretched a bit and laid his hand flat into his shiny black hair. “Perhaps I might,” he mocked, blue eyes flashing dangerously. “Perhaps _you_ need to _join me_ now.”

Michael’s carefree laughter filled the room even as she bent in two and fought bravely to contain it. Sarek looked vaguely pained, while Saavik stared in confusion. “You’ve turned _green_ , little brother!”

Jim joined her in laughter, then pressed an apologetical kiss on Spock’s burning cheek. “Sorry, couldn’t resist,” he muttered in his ear.

The Vulcan glared at him coldly, and without gracing him of another glance, he turned to leave for the stairs.

His sister snorted, and pushed Kirk his way, so the human bumped against him. “Good boys, go on and _shower_ ,” she drawled, putting a strange emphasis into the word, “Saavik and I are making dinner.”

“What?” the Captain immediately protested, walking backwards up the stairs so he could simultaneusly keep up with Spock’s annoyed pacing and look at Michael. “But you said _I_ could!”

“Changed my mind,” she said, already busy dragging both Sarek and Saavik into the kitchen. “Go have _fun_ somewhere else.”

“ _Michael_ ,” Spock hissed.

She snickered, and shut the door behind herself.

* * *

They had a traditional Shi’Kahr dinner that evening, which Jim found absolutely fascinating for a variety of reasons, the first of which being that nearly every dish was made of vegetables he didn’t know existed, and that, according to Vulcan customs, all of it had to be eaten with silverware. A nice challenge.

After the meal was through, and Kirk had managed not to embarrass himself and Spock too much, the Captain and Commander cleared the table, and then they retired to the living room.

“I am expected on earth in three solar days for Ambassadorial duties,” Sarek announced, sipping his tea with his usual aplomb. “Of course, I am taking Saavik with me.”

Michael smiled, moving to sit by his side. “I’m coming with, too. There’s a lot I have to catch up to at the Academy,” she said, stretching a little on the sofa.

Saavik crawled up in Jim’s lap, then climbed on his shoulders. “Are you staying with us as well, Jim-an?” she invited, folding her arms on his head.

The human chuckled, and looped an arm around Spock’s shoulders so he could ruffle his hair. “Sorry, kid, we’re going to have to stay with Bones.”

“Bones?” Sarek repeated, instantly distrustful. “Why would my son stay with this _Bones_? There is plenty of space at the Vulcan embassy in San Francisco.”

“He’s the ship’s doctor,” Kirk told him. “He said he’s gotta examine this Vulcan right here, or he’ll lock him up in a hospital and throw away the key.”

Spock’s eyebrows shot up, but before he could reply, his t’hy’la pointed out: “I don’t think you want to fight him on this. You missed, like, eight check-ups? Ten?”

This time, Sarek seemed to be fully approving. “Very well. I shall expect you to visit. Frequently.” It did sound like a threat, and the Captain nodded forcefully under the Ambassador’s satisfied gaze.

“Doctor Leonard had invited us to a party,” Saavik said, looking resentfully down at her adopted brother, “But _someone_ was not there to take me.”

“Aw, c’mon, Saavik, cut the guy some slack!” Jim playfully pled with her, shaking his shoulders enough to have her bounce a little. “Half the fault is mine, you know!”

“It is _not_!” the child insisted, “The fault is all his.”

Before Kirk could contradict her harsh, harsh statement, Spock leaned towards the two and very politely asked: “So what must I do to be forgiven, little one?”

Frowning, Saavik spent a few seconds thinking of a suitable punishment, then her whole face lit up and she told him: “Jim-an has promised to give me a tour of the _Enterprise_. I wish to sit in the Captain’s chair.”

The Vulcan’s eyes narrowed. “That is against regulations.”

“Jim-an has already given me permission.”

“Then I do not understand why you are asking me.” Spock’s demeanour was frosty.

From her place sitting by Sarek’s side, Michael threw him her father’s teaspoon. “Just let her!”

“I mean, it’s not like we’ll be in space,” Jim added reasonably, “She’s docked, after all.”

The young Vulcan crossed his legs and frowned, but when his bondmate brushed a hand across his cheek, all his coldness seemed to melt away, and he settled closer to him, shutting his eyes. “Very well. You may let her do as she pleases.”

Both humans laughed.

It was a cheerful evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, the biggest thank you to all! I couldn't have done this without your support! *sends warm hugs*
> 
> So, I wanted some playful Michael and Spock (as far as I'm concerned, they were totally partners in crime as kids) and of course Michael has Sarek wrapped around her human finger, so... AND Saavik rules all.
> 
> Well, this is the end of Part two!
> 
> Part Three will be (spoiler) the marriage! Like, they're bonded now, but they have to make it official... It's gonna be romantic, have some mystery, hopefully, and family drama! I'm throwing in Winona Kirk, too, maybe Frank (I haven't yet decided.) Anyhow! The wedding's gonna be awesome, I promise! I have a friend (who's married, unlike my sorry ass) helping me with the details!
> 
> Please let me know what you think! I love you all!


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